


Visions of What We Can Be

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bottom Dean, Curtain Fic, M/M, National Novel Writing Month, Top Sam, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 18:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 52,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2702984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Out of money and on the run, Sam and Dean land in a small South Carolina town with nothing but each other, still reeling from John's death and the events of the past year.  They decide to take a job in the hopes of earning just enough to get out of dodge, but maybe, just maybe, it's time to make peace with their past and call it quits.  Canon complaint through season 1, goes completely AU shortly after the beginning of season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All I can really say is an immense thank you to the people who pushed and prodded me to get this beast written and done. I won't profess to it being perfect but hey, it's my first novel. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.

Sam’s looking forward to this beer, probably more than anyone’s ever looked forward to the stuff in the whole history of ales and lagers and other such things.

            Truthfully?  Sam doesn’t even like beer that much, not like Dean does.  Dean can drink the stuff like water but Sam just doesn’t have the same taste for it as his brother.  Whiskey?  Sure.  Bourbon?  Always.  Rum?  Pour some in a glass of Coke and watch Sam roll – but beer just doesn’t have the same magical elixir quality to it that Dean swears by.

            The thing is money’s been awfully low lately, so beer it is.  Like, sleeping in the back of the Impala for a week straight, eating frozen fifty cent burritos heated in gas station microwaves, Sam’s stomach torn to shreds as a result of those burritos low.  In theory the former should be nice, especially since it means getting to snuggle Dean whether Dean wants it or not; however, they’re also not teenagers anymore, bulky and broad and Sam’s back has been killing him from the constant cramped conditions. (The last couple hunts notwithstanding, though; it’s a wonder he can bend at all, after that last demon had tossed him around like a seal caught by a killer whale.) 

Now that Sam thinks about it, funds have been low for a couple months now, John’s death still lingering over their daily lives like a ghost that they can’t quite seem to rid themselves of.  Dean’s coping mechanism tends to be spending his money on booze that they can’t afford ( _the good stuff works best Sammy, you know that_ ) and not so much as thinking to talk about it. At all.  Dean’s already talked about it, in his mind, right after John died and he beat the Impala further into oblivion with a sledgehammer.  (Witnessing that had hurt Sam even more than if it had been himself Dean was taking it out on – he knows how much that car means to Dean.)  Dean knows it’s there, that unsettled tension they’re pretending to ignore, and Sam does too, palpable like John’s still there and disapproving of their inability to just _fucking fix it_.  Sam knows it’s eating at Dean, and it’s only gotten worse since Dean realized that he’d blown the last of their cash on whiskey. 

Sam hadn’t said a word then, and he’s not going to now, either.  Saying words of that nature tends to end in hitting each other and the last thing Sam wants right now is for them to be driven apart like that – and on a certain level, he understands.  For Dean, drinking’s a hell of a lot easier than talking.

            This not talking and living like vagabonds literally out of the trunk of the car is why their current location is in what has to rank somewhere very, very low on the “legality of the establishment” end of the scale by Winchester standards – Sam’s willing to bet the money he doesn’t have that half of the liquor brewed here is made via the distillery that he sees cobbled together through the back door.  Of course, he doesn’t really have to – the smell of homemade corn liquor is overwhelmingly strong, and most everyone in the bar is consuming it.

But all of that can be put by the wayside, because this beer is going to be awesome and Sam’s going to enjoy it while he can – even if he can’t necessarily pay for it.  Then again, Dean’s instructions had been to sit here and look pretty while he went and rustled up some cash. _Shouldn’t be too hard for you Sammy, I’d pay you if you winked and blew a kiss at me._

            Right as he’s putting the booze to his lips he’s being yanked off of his barstool, amber liquid sloshing out of the bottle and all over his hand.  He manages to get himself turned around to see who’s decided to take him away from his hopsy bliss – it’s Dean.  Of course it is, Sam thinks.  Not many people dare to yank him backwards like that if they want to continue to keep fully functioning arms and fingers.

            “Dean, what the hell?”  Sam wrenches himself from Dean’s grasp, beer still clutched in his hand only for Dean to grab a hold of his wrist and start hauling him towards the door.

            “Bad pool game, Sammy.  Big guys, pipe wrenches, ham-fisted and ugly.”

            “Sounds like your kind of game.”  Sam’s bumping into people on the way out, turning his head to see three people that Dean’s just described in painfully accurate terms following them – alright, he can see why Dean’s concerned.

            Dean ignores Sam’s dig at him and starts moving faster.  “It was, until I started hustling them.  Turns out they’re a lot smarter than they look.”  Dean’s starting to shove, making more and more of the bar’s patrons mad at him and Sam sees a knife flash out from under a coat.  Sam manages to show off the Beretta tucked into his waistband, and the knife disappears.  Of course, it doesn’t deter their pursuers in the least.

            “Dean, we could move a lot faster if you’d let me go.”  Just because Sam’s got a gun tucked in his waistband doesn’t guarantee that would help them win, nor would it help if someone who wasn’t actively pursuing them got in the line of fire.  Dean does acquiesce to letting his death grip  go on Sam’s wrist, running once they reach the door, he and Sam tumbling out into the sticky South Carolina night.  It’s nearly autumn but that doesn’t make a bit of difference, the temperature still firmly stuck at ninety in spite of the sun having gone down an hour ago.

            Their pursuers follow them outside, Sam abandoning his beer on the ground and beating it to the Impala right behind Dean (and Dean’s ass makes an awfully nice target to shoot for, encouraging Sam’s legs to carry him that much faster.)  Dean’s got the car unlocked, started, and in gear by the time Sam finishes folding himself into the passenger seat, nearly colliding with a Silverado as Dean backs up, making an impressive show of storming out of the parking lot. 

            Sam now sees that there were way more than three guys after Dean – there are seven, each larger and more hideous looking than the last.  For a split second Sam thinks they’re going to continue their pursuit but Dean’s whiplash inducing turn onto the road jerks his attention back to the here and now.  All the same, Sam keeps a weather eye on the rearview mirror for signs of pursuit.

            “Aw, come on Dean, we could have taken them.”  Sam injects a healthy amount of fake encouragement into his voice, yelping loudly when Dean reaches over and pinches his side, right in the middle of his ribs.

            Rude. 

            “Shut up, dickweed.”  Dean scowls and backs off the accelerator, bringing them down from eighty to sixty miles an hour.

            Sam shrugs off the insult without as much as a thought.  The fact that Dean had sent the barb his way means he’s not truly rattled, just adrenaline filled.  “Did you at least get their money?”

            “That’s when they wanted to start fighting.  They saw me reach for it – who the hell sets it out on the table within easy reach like that, seriously - and then the next thing I knew one of them had me in a headlock.  Lucky I wore steel toes today or I might not be here to tell the tale.”

            “Six,” Sam says after a listening to Dean’s experience.

            “Six what?”

            Sam turns towards Dean a little, studying his nearly silhouette dark profile as it’s backlit by passing cars.  “Six is our record for number of guys taken in a bar fight.”

            “Who keeps track of something like that?”  Dean, for once, doesn’t look impressed that Sam remembered such a thing.

            “Thought it’d make you feel better, is all.”  Sam gets quiet, listening to the bumpy road grumble under the tires.

            “I told you, I don’t need to feel better about anything.  I’m fine, all systems go, ready to jump to warp speed at any time, Sammy.”  Dean sounds confident but Sam notices the hollow ping to his voice, and it makes Sam’s heart ache that much more.

            Sam lets out a small sigh, knowing it’s pointless to argue.  “Did they actually hit you or did they just try to grapple?”

            Dean picks up the change in subject easily, the emptiness to his voice receding a little.  “Landed a couple good ones on my ribs and stomach.  The biggest guy had a pretty decent hold on me.”  Dean winces a little as he shifts his weight, deciding it doesn’t really feel that much better from how he was sitting beforehand.

            Sam unbuckles his seat belt scoots a little closer towards his brother, genuinely interested in making sure Dean’s okay. “Want me to take a look at ‘em?”

            Dean’s one hundred percent positive that they aren’t life threatening injuries but hey, any excuse to get Sam’s hands on him is a good one.  “Kind of dark, don’t you think?”

            “I always come prepared, Dean.”  Sam pulls a flashlight from the glove box, holding it between his teeth as he lifts up Dean’s shirt.  There are a couple fist-shaped bruises alright, already starting to turn dark and splotchy – Sam can even make out a couple of places where he can see fingers.  He palpates each one gingerly, listening for any changes in Dean’s breathing to indicate whether or not they hurt.

            “See, not so bad, right?”  Dean moves his right arm from where it’s resting on the back of the seat down to drape and curl around Sam’s shoulders.

            “No, but I don’t think sleeping in here tonight is going to help ‘em heal any quicker either.”  Sam’s back is starting to ache again, the last of his painkillers having finally worn off.

            “We may not have a choice, Sammy.”  Dean’s not told Sam that the last three cards he’s tried have been declined and that their emergency cash is down to just ten dollars.

            Sam puts Dean’s shirt down and kisses his neck chastely.  “I’ll live if we have to.”

            “Hey, at least it’s not cold, right?”  Dean can feel his shirt sticking to him from the sweat, not all of it due to the humidity.  Sam’s proximity is just as responsible for making him sticky as the positively hideous temperature outside.

            Sam moves back over to his side of the seat, putting the flashlight back in the glove compartment and rummaging around for a headband, pulling it on so that his bangs aren’t sticking to his forehead like a wet mop. “We may have to sleep naked, if we’re gonna be in here.”

            Dean watches as Sam pulls his hair back, his body stretching and pulling the thin, sweat damp cotton of his t-shirt, a sliver of belly enticing Dean to not pay attention to the road and instead focus on Sam.  “I mean, there’s a million fucking bugs outside so we couldn’t even roll the windows down.  Gotta stay cool somehow.”  Dean reaches out and puts his hand on Sam’s thigh, squeezing it just too hard to be considered anything more than casual affection.

            Sam looks back over at Dean, sliding his eyes up Dean’s body, glad that his mood over getting chased out of the bar is lightening.  “We could try putting the seat down again too, that way it gives us more room to stretch out.”

            “I like the way you think, Sammy.”  Dean’s hand moves higher but Sam stops him.

            “Why don’t we find somewhere to stop and get our bearings first, huh?”

            “And dinner.”  Dean’s stomach rumbles loudly to emphasize his suggestion.

            “You ate like two hours ago.”

            “Well all that running made me hungry.  You see a Wendy’s or anything around here?”

            “You’re not getting anything with onions if we’re gonna be in here tonight.”  The last time that had happened Sam had wound up sleeping on the hood while Dean turned the inside into a noxious gas chamber – which of course, Dean didn’t even notice.

            “That was one time!”

            “And demons smell better than that.  Seriously, Dean, it was gross.”

            “You’re gross.”

            Sam lets out another long suffering sigh.  “There was a Wendy’s in the town before this one.”

            “See, now that wasn’t so hard to answer, now was it?”

            Sam doesn’t even bother to dignify that with a reply.

            The Wendy’s that Sam had spotted earlier looks completely and totally sketch but hey, food’s food and if Sam’s being honest he’s feeling peckish as well.  They decide to eat in, spending every bit of the last of their money but two sandwiches a piece and a large order of fries split between them later they’re feeling much, much better.  Sam watches Dean’s lips as he licks hamburger juice and salt from his lips, wanting to kiss him very, very badly but considering their current location and the way the last set of locals treated them, that may not be the wisest of ideas.

            Then again, who could honestly blame him for kissing his brother?  Those lips were made for it, and Sam’s been ruined for everyone else by them since he was a teenager. Of course, there haven’t been that many others, and even then he only remembers one.  Jess, that only other “one,” is an ever increasingly distant memory, and Sam’s finally starting to feel like all of the slots that should be filled by Dean and his presence are as they should be – even if it’s taken them a while.  It’s not like Sam expected the process to be easy, of course – he had been entertaining thoughts of marrying Jess, some day, what that sort of life would be like, even if it would have taken away what he and Dean had.  Still have, Sam corrects himself.   Sam can’t help but feel like the death of their father sped that process along because Dean hasn’t turned down physical contact from Sam in almost three whole weeks now.

            Sam can’t help but find that a little worrying, as it’s simply Dean’s modus operandi to tell Sam to stop being a girl when he goes to kiss him just because, or that he’s not into that sweet stuff (even if that particular phrase is a bold faced lie.)  No, Dean’s simply been letting him in and it’s taken quite a bit of the fun out of it.  Dean tends to give back a lot more if he feels like his affections being earned.

            Dean notices how intently Sam’s looking at him and stops chewing.  “What, do I have ketchup on my shirt or something?”  Dean looks down and gives himself a perfunctory expression, finding nothing that shouldn’t be there.

            Sam shakes his head.  “Nothing.  Just thinking, is all.”

            “Uh oh, what does Sammy’s brain have going on tonight?”

            Deciding it’s not the best time to tell Dean that he’s worried about the fact he’s not been putting up a fight when it comes to intimacy, Sam decides on something safer. Well, safer in theory, at the very least.

            “We’ve got to find somewhere to crash sooner rather than later.  We don’t even have money to make it out of the state, Dean.”  That part at least is true.

            “Baby’s got half a tank left, we’ll be fine.”

            Sam’s voice doesn’t exactly ring hopeful to Dean.  “We’re ten or so miles from Spartanburg, I don’t think we’re gonna get very far in any direction.”

            “So, we look for a hunt or something and hope that the family is gracious enough help us out.”

            “And we’ve been bathing with wet wipes and water bottles for the last week.”  Sam’s starting to miss horrid motel showers, even if they do have weird stains on the curtains and water pressure so anemic Sam could spit harder.

            “Just brings out your natural musk, Sammy.  Ain’t nothing wrong with that.”  Dean waggles his eyebrows, like he’s oblivious to the fact that Sam stinks.  Literally.  To the point where Sam’s thought they’ve passed road kill and it turned out it was actually him.

            Sam tries to smile in appreciation but this definitely isn’t the direction he needs this conversation to go in.  “Dean, we reek.  And this…” - Sam gestures in the general direction of outside – “environment… isn’t helping either.  Until we get some cash, we’re stuck here.”

            “So what are you suggesting?”  Dean scratches his chin and regards Sam with curiosity as to what he’ll say next.

            Sam regrets the words before they even leave his mouth.  “That maybe we need to stay put for a little bit and work.” Sam swallows before he resumes, forcing his voice to go steady.  “You know, solid, guaranteed money, just long enough to earn a couple hundred bucks a piece and then we move on.”   Sam’s hoping he can sell Dean on the last part, the whole not sticking around thing.  Keep him moving, keep him happy.

            Dean thinks for a moment, looking at Sam as he does.  Sam’s got a week’s worth of stubble (which Dean finds to be very attractive on him) and patches under his eyes so dark from crappy sleep that his heart aches, truly.  Sam hasn’t said anything about this before today, and Dean knows he’s been trying to give him space and time and whatever else it is that Sam’s convinced will make him happy. 

            “Why don’t we rehash this over breakfast?”

            Sam rejoices internally, because it’s a lot better than a no.

            “Deal.”

            Dean grins as big as the sun and Sam’s heart melts.

            Standing and stretching, Dean gathers up their trash in one go.  “I need to hit the john.  You gonna hang here or…”

            “I’ll be in the car, see if I can’t find a place to stake out for the night.  Gotta be a campground or something around here we can sneak on to.”

            “That’s my boy.”  To his surprise, Dean comes back over to where he’s standing and gives him a kiss.  Not just a peck, but a real, hamburger and salty fries and honey sweet Dean kiss, leaving Sam a little breathless and aching for more.  Always, _always_ more.  Right as Sam reaches out to place his hands on Dean’s hips, Dean pulls away.

            “Hold that thought for me, alright?”  Dean saunters away and Sam’s got half a mind to follow him, then he remembers this is a Wendy’s and the cashier is definitely eying them like it’s Winchester season and she shoots to kill.  Sam gives her a quick smile and beats it out the door, ignoring the heavy feeling of arousal that’s settled in the pit of his stomach and subsequently down in between his legs.

            Sam decides that he’s going to be just as hot sitting inside the car as he is standing here outside so he leans against the hood, readjusting his headband and pulling out his map.  They’re in Cowpens, the site of a Revolutionary War battle that Sam had to research once upon a time, the very definition of a small Southern town if there ever was one.  There are more than a few campgrounds around, all of which look like they need a reservation to get into. 

            The universe is determined to set them back even further, Sam’s convinced.

            Feeling the sweat drip from his mouth and chin, Sam lifts his shirt in an attempt to wipe it away, the humidity no less cloying than it had been beforehand.  Honestly Sam’s not sure if a shower right now would help anything, as it would likely end up only adding to his discomfort. Still, he’d feel so much less grimy if he could get just two minutes with a good, steady stream of water (hot or cold, he wouldn’t complain) and bar of soap.

            “You may want to put those away Sammy or you may just end up breaking a couple decency laws.” Dean’s outside now, stepping off the sidewalk and sliding in next to Sam where’s he propped on the hood.  The heat’s made Dean’s cheeks rosy, even in the light, and being outside in the sun has made his skin even more freckled and golden than normal and it looks absolutely stunning on him.

            “What, my abs?  Like you’d ever have a problem with seeing them.”  Sam puts down his map and smirks, shirt still held his hand where he’s wiping at his neck with it.

            “Didn’t say I would.  But blondie in there’s eying us with a lot of intention.”  The same girl from before is making a valiant effort at pretending to clean the carpet and not look at them through the window, running her vacuum back and forth furiously over one spot.  Dean winks at her, giving her his best panty dropping smile and as a result she nearly trips over her own feet.

            “That wasn’t very nice, Dean.”

            “No, _this_ isn’t nice.”  Dean loops his left arm around Sam’s back and pulls him in, his right hand going right to Sam’s chin to angle him for a kiss. Sam’s arousal going from a simmer to a flare as Dean’s tongue swipes along his lips, opening him right up and making Sam moan so lewdly that that the sound alone should have the Spartanburg County Sheriff’s Vice Squad out here in two seconds flat.  It’s a ‘back off’ kiss for sure, Dean speaking volumes with just one simple action that Sam’s sure has the girl convinced that she’s going to have to get her kicks elsewhere.

            “Only one person in this world that gets to make bedroom eyes at me,” Dean murmurs as he lets Sam go, feeling extremely proud of himself when he sees the flush in Sam’s cheeks that definitely can’t be blamed on just the heat.

            “You’re so magnanimous, Dean, you deserve an award.”  Sam’s still reeling from the kiss and he kind of wants to die on his brother’s dangerously poisonous lips right now.

            “The fact that you can still say that word correctly just goes to show that I didn’t do a good enough job of easing your troubles, Sammy.”  Dean goes back in for another kiss but Sam stops him.

            “And if you do, we _will_ be arrested.”  It’s true – Sam’s dick is about to start doing the thinking for him.  “Besides, I found a spot for the night.”  Sam tells Dean about a campground on the edge of town that looks promising.

            “Why didn’t you say so, Sammy?  Time’s a wastin’, let’s go!”  Dean lets go of Sam and slides across the hood to the other side of the car like a Duke boy (you’re Luke, Sam, just saying) and opens his door, Sam wobbly from the heat and his brother’s stupid mouth as he makes the short trip to the passenger side.

            They enter the campground with the lights off, Sam hopping out to unlatch the gate and sneak past the guardhouse, its sole guard fast asleep with a magazine on his chest.  Dean eases Baby in, the engine barely making a rumble as they creep in, Sam walking alongside so that he can guide Dean to an empty spot.

            There’s an empty space at the back of the campground, the Impala looking mighty small next to the Winnebago in the next slot over.  Of course, it’s still better than parking off the side of some back road and hoping no one disturbs them until morning.  He also doesn’t miss the water spigot sticking up from the ground, next to the hookup for mobile home plumbing.

            “Dude, _look_.” Sam’s grin is as bright as the moonlight shining overhead as he points to the spigot, sticking up at chest level.

            Dean gets out of the car and sees Sam, walking around the car to join him.  “It ain’t the Hilton but…”

            “I don’t care, so long as there’s running water.”  Sam takes off his Pumas and jeans, feeling like his shirt is a second skin as he peels it away from his body, tossing the sweaty garment so that it ends up landing in a heap with his jeans on the trunk of the Impala.  It’s cooler now that he’s down to just his boxer-briefs, turning on the water and making a noise of supreme gratefulness as the cool water hits him square in the chest.

            “I’ll grab the soap.”  Dean takes off his shirt as he opens the trunk, grabbing their just in case soap (and this is definitely a just in case sort of situation) and washcloth, shedding his jeans and boots as well and standing in the grassy area behind the gravel parking spot, the water bringing him a long sigh of relief as it takes off the edge of heat and stickiness.

            Sam turns Dean to face him, pulling him in close as Dean soaps up his back.  “Hey, you.”

            “Hey, yourself.”  Sam’s shiny wet and cool from the water, the moonlight making his eyes sparkle like gemstones (if Sam ever heard those words come out of Dean’s mouth….), his lips parting as Dean starts to scrub the bar of soap over his back and shoulders.

            “Remember that thought I was holding?”  Sam says it all low, voice almost a purr.

            “Sure do.”  How could Dean forget?

            “Want me to expand on that some more or would you rather just lather me up?”

            “Can I have both?”  
            Sam’s answer is to move in slow, the water tasting slightly metallic where it’s splashed against Dean’s lips.  Dean makes himself useful by tightening his arms around Sam’s body, deciding that he can stop washing Sam for just a moment so he can kiss Sam back good and proper.  It’s not a hurried or frantic kiss, in spite of the residual adrenaline still pumping through their veins.  Dean’s going to go as fast as Sam decides to move them, head tipped back just a little to make up for the difference in their height.  Dean moans softly against Sam’s mouth as Sam drags his fingernails slowly over his belly, making a show of skirting them along the waistband of his boxers.

            “Sammy…” The nickname is uttered like a prayer whispered in an empty cathedral.

            “Tell me what you want, Dean.  Anything.” Sam feels he can demand that much from Dean, out here with only the moon and a cascade of cold water running over them as witnesses, not a single light on in any of the campers around them.

            “Just you, Sam.  Only ever you.”  Dean kisses the words into his mouth, six soft brushes that paint a masterpiece on Sam’s lips.  “I think you know what I’m getting at, baby boy.”

            “All of me that you want, Dean.”  Sam kisses Dean back, a little harder this time because Dean’s definitely sporting a hard on now, nudging thickly hot and incessant against Sam’s left thigh. 

            They finish washing each other eagerly, just enough to where most of what they smell is soap and not each other’s summer induced funkiness, sharing a towel to dry off and spreading it out once finished along with their underwear on the hood to dry.  For once the front seat cooperates and lays down on the first try, Dean climbing in first and testing the structural integrity of their makeshift bed.

            Satisfied it’s going to hold them both, Dean lays on his back, spreading his legs and gesturing for Sam to join him.  Pulling the door shut behind him Sam clambers in, kissing up Dean’s now naked body, starting at his navel and going all the way to his lips.  Dean still tastes like sweat and soap and open road but that’s not going to stop them – it certainly hasn’t before.  Dean’s hungry for Sam’s touch, closing his legs around Sam’s waist and wrapping his arms around his shoulders, tucking himself under Sam’s body as Sam’s lips slide against his own, sticky and warm like the late summer night against his own.  Sam’s all heat, radiating it from every pore and square inch of tanned skin.  It’s not a bad heat, in spite of it being sweltering outside.  No, Sam’s comforting, safe, heat, home and brother and lover all blended into one place.

            Dean groans as Sam’s teeth sink softly into his bottom lip, a cheap shot that Dean succumbs to every time.  He’s not going to push Dean, reading his body language easily and adjusting, pacing, bending and working instead of trying to take complete control.  Sam drops his hips low and drags his cock against Dean’s, precome smearing sticky against their sweat-damp skin.  Dean’s hot down there, in a pervasive and overwhelming way, breath hitching in Sam’s mouth when he feels the tip of Sam’s dick drag over his own, his foreskin pulling down over the head of his cock as Sam grinds himself against Dean a little harder.

            Sam’s lips disconnect from Dean’s, each other’s breath puffing warm against their faces.

            “Want you to ride me, Dean.”  Sam’s decided to relinquish control to Dean, to give him _something_ that Dean can own completely and make his.  The look of defeat after what happened back at the bar hadn’t escaped Sam’s notice, and he could tell that Dean’s pride was wounded.

            Dean sees Sam’s thought’s reflecting in his eyes, sees the understanding without saying and nods.  “Get ready Sammy, cause I ain’t gonna go easy on you.”  Dean gives Sam a shit eating grin and it makes Sam’s heart leap – _that’s_ the Dean he’s been wanting to see.

            _Needs_ to see, more than anything.   

            “Give me your best fucking shot.”  Sam grabs a hold of Dean’s shoulders and flips them, done in one smooth motion that took an awful lot of time and practice to get down to an acceptable degree of efficiency.  (The Impala’s roomy compared to some of the spaces he and Dean have found themselves getting down and dirty in.)  Dean gives Sam one more hard, brief kiss before he starts to work his way down Sam’s body, mouth and breath ghosting over every bruise and healing cut from their last hunt.  It’s been a week since they last touched each other like this, constantly on the move and trying to heal faster than their bodies will allow – sex is hard to manage with a bruised back and your head throbbing incessantly from being bashed against gravestones.

            Dean looks up at Sam, his hair a mess and his mouth parted, his hazel-silver eyes dark with need, trying to show that his back’s not bothering him but Dean doesn’t miss the little hitch in his upper body every time he exhales. 

            “You good?” Dean asks, mouth somewhere between Sam’s chest and navel.

            “Yeah.”  Sam smiles, taking Dean’s head in his hands and rubbing his thumbs over his cheeks.  “Better than good.”  It’s a lie, but Sam’s not going to stop Dean just because of a likely pinched nerve.

            “Good.”  Dean kisses Sam’s palm before he resumes his short trip to the space in between Sam’s legs, laying himself out as flat as he can manage, curling his left hand around the bottom half of Sam’s cock as he finishes getting in position.  He can feel Sam’s body heat so much stronger down here, can see the sheen of sweat layered on his skin, making Sam stick to the leather seat.  It’s a heaven-sent vision, miles and miles of road rough and gorgeous baby brother right in front of him, and every inch is for Dean’s eyes only.

            Dean doesn’t break eye contact as he bends downwards, sticking his tongue out and using the broad, flat part to lick up the underside of Sam’s dick.  Sam moans low in his throat, a soft, small sound of relief, like Dean’s a balm that’s finally being applied to a wound that he’s been stoically fighting.  Dean’s always been surprised at just how quiet Sam is when he goes down on him, not sure if that’s just Sam or if it’s due to so many furtive, under the cover of darkness fumblings with their dad sleeping in the bed next to them, unable to keep their hands off of each other because the desire to touch each other had been too overwhelming to bother with caution.

            Either way, Dean knows that Sam’s appreciative, if the way his fingers slide reflexively through the short, sweaty spikes of Dean’s hair is anything to go by.  They’re big, reassuring, solid like an anchor keeping a ship in place, not meant to force but to guide.  It gives Sam something to hold onto as Dean tries his best to take break him down by sliding Sam’s long, loose foreskin down, exposing the shiny pink head, the same exact same color as Sam’s lips.  Dean curls his tongue to lap at the frenulum, wiggling the tip and making Sam’s body spasm involuntarily.

            “Dean, god, can’t…”  Sam’s voice is scratchy with arousal, scraping against Dean’s ears pleasantly.

            “Can’t what?”

            “You can’t fucking do that or I’ll blow before we even get anywhere.”  Sam’s voice goes from shaky to ragged in three seconds flat, and Dean’s honestly kind of proud of that change, Sam already a gorgeous wreck for him.

            “I’ve got you, Sammy, don’t worry.”  Dean repeats the action purely out of spite and earns himself a jerk of Sam’s hips, Dean chuckling as he opens his mouth wide to swallow the wide head of Sam’s cock.

            It’s truly unfair, the way Dean gives head.  Sam likes to think of himself as pretty damn good at blowing dick (Dean’s never had any complaints about his skills, anyway) but Dean makes a fucking _art form_ of it, slurping and spitting and never sticking with the same pattern, always keeping Sam off balance.  Sam thinks it’s to do with a slip of the tongue on his eighteenth birthday, both of them smashed to hell and back on Jose Cuervo and Sam had slurred something into Dean’s ear about how _fucking awesome_ Dean’s mouth was.  Of course Sam hadn’t remembered the next morning but Dean had, getting Sam through his hangover by going down on him until Sam’s head didn’t ache anymore.  (Barfing up his insides had helped too, of course, and Dean had professed he’d rather go down on Sam than kiss him – fair enough.)

            Out of the twenty three birthdays Sam’s had it definitely ranks high on the list of good ones, nearly throwing up on Dean twice notwithstanding.  Sam can’t say that Dean doesn’t take care of him, even if most of Dean’s methods of caretaking involve his mouth on various parts of Sam’s body.

            Dean can almost hear Sam’s mind wandering, looking up at Sam’s unfocused gaze and scowling.  His retribution is to pull off of Sam’s cock, lips spit wet and shiny.  Sam comes to awfully quickly, now that Dean’s not going for the champion dick sucker of the year award.

            “Hey, are you here or am I doing this just out of self-enjoyment?”  Dean tugs at Sam’s balls, mouth still huffing hot breaths onto Sam’s dick.

            Sam shakes his head, making an appreciative expression towards Dean’s half-lit face.  “Yeah, yeah, I’m here.  Just reminiscing.”  Sam hates his brain for carrying him down memory lane like that, especially when Dean’s giving of himself so freely.

            “Can you do it later?  Makes a guy feel awfully unappreciated when he’s down here working his ass off and the guy getting his dick wet is staring off into space.”  Dean looks genuinely hurt, and it makes Sam feel awfully sorry.

            “Hey, it’s not anything bad, alright?”  Sam leans down, taking Dean’s face in his hands and kissing him.  Dean tastes like him now, a hint of precome adding salt to Dean’s already dark flavor.  “Seriously, it was about you.”

            “Care to share with the class?”

            “How good you are at sucking my dick.”  Sam smiles as he bites on Dean’s bottom lip and sucks.

            Dean’s expression lightens considerably at Sam’s revelation.  “See, now that’s an okay thought to share.”  Dean pushes Sam back down to the seat and resettles himself, kissing up Sam’s cock as he does. Before Sam has a chance to say anything further, Dean swallows him halfway down. 

Sam’s brain is effectively shut off as a result, especially when Dean pulls the cheapest of cheap moves and uses just his mouth to suck Sam’s foreskin up between his lips, pinching the end gently between his teeth so that the skin stays closed and he can circle the tip of his tongue around the inside, spiraling down so that every nerve ending feels as though it’s being pulled right to the surface of his flesh.  Sam makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a very drawn out version of Dean’s name, coming out chesty and so deep that Dean’s body resonates in sympathy.  That’s the sound Dean was after, seeing as how it’s a really fantastic one to hear being uttered from Sam.

            Dean keeps sucking until there’s spit running down Sam’s balls, puddling on the creases in the leather and getting smeared around when Sam shifts his leg.  It’s one of those deep, thorough blowjobs that Dean’s gotten to be very expert at giving, his head bobbing up and down on his brother’s cock, green-gold gaze flicking up to Sam’s face every now and then, satisfied when he sees Sam’s head tilted back in ecstasy and the long hollow of his throat is bared, Adam’s apple bobbing with every shaky breath he gulps down.

            That’s what Dean’s been wanting to see and hear, that moment when Sam finally lets himself go and just enjoy himself.  It’s probably to do with Sam’s selfless nature, far more of a giver in bed than anything else.  Then again, it’s not exactly a hard task for Dean to give back just as good as Sam does, even if he sometimes acts like it’s some sort of burden.  Yeah right, like having Sam’s dick in his mouth is a bad thing. 

            Of course, Dean hasn’t forgotten about his plans to ride his sweet boy stupid; that’s going to be the highlight of his week and Sam’s not even in him yet.  Well, he’ll _make_ it the highlight of his week, since they have nowhere to go but up from where they are.

            Keeping his mouth on Sam’s dick, Dean reaches behind himself and starts rubbing his hole.  He had managed to sneak an enema back at the restaurant, having planned ahead even if a grimy Wendy’s bathroom wasn’t exactly the best sort of place to do such a thing. Humming around Sam’s cock, he spreads his own legs a little wider, the sluggish, muggy air feeling even more pervasive now against his most intimate parts than it had before.  Sam notices what Dean’s doing to his ass, torn between watching Dean’s mouth and his hand, teasing at his own hole in anticipation.  Sam decides that he needs Dean on his cock sooner rather than later and with a low growl hauls Dean up into his lap, his cock making a delightfully lewd pop as it’s pulled from Dean’s mouth.

            “Let me?”  Sam’s fingers cup and caress Dean’s ass, palms fitting perfectly over globe.

            “Be my guest, babe.”  Dean kisses Sam before he bends backwards, body stretched out for Sam to perv on as he opens the glove box to grab the lube.  Sam takes the opportunity to bite the soft pudge of Dean's belly, making his brother yelp all the louder when he follows it up with swirling his tongue in Dean’s navel.  Dean gives him a scowl and sits back up so that Sam’s teeth are far, far away from his soft bits, shoving the lube into Sam’s hand and occupying Sam’s mouth with his own.

            Sam’s got these long, dexterous fingers, just as skilled at handling a weapon as they are at playing Dean’s body, a fact that Dean gives thanks for at least twice a week. Sam uses his left hand to keep Dean pulled apart and his right to uncap the lube, doing his best to not make any further mess as he coats his fingers with slick and starts rubbing it into Dean’s body.

            Dean’s actually thankful in that moment for the hot weather, as the lube isn’t shockingly cold as Sam starts to work it into him, one finger at a time.  Dean rocks himself downwards, just one finger inside wriggling inside him for the time being.  Sam’t surely taking his sweet time with it, Dean’s cock blurting precome where it’s currently laying against Sam’s abs.  Sam pulls the finger he has inside Dean’s ass out, his concentration slipping as Dean’s making a game try for the world-class tonsil hockey playoffs.  Sam’s half tempted to topple Dean over and hold him down, just to spite him while he tries to work.

            Sam manages to slide in two fingers, crooking them against Dean’s prostate and causing Dean to give up just an inch, Sam taking the opportunity to draw a breath and move his head.  He sinks his teeth into Dean’s stubble rough skin, right at the hinge of his jaw and Dean swears loudly, pulling his legs tighter around Sam’s waist.  Sam doesn’t go easy with the biting, never has, really, having a serious thing for seeing the marks on Dean’s skin in the morning.

            “Want to go easy on the goods there, darlin’?”  Dean’s lust drunk and loose, the words pouring from his lips like slow-warmed honey.

            Sam chuckle darkly against Dean’s cheek, making the hair on the back of Dean’s neck stand up.  “Not a chance.  What happened to giving me your best shot, anyway?”  Each syllable is panted hot against Dean’s skin, Sam’s voice gravelly and wrecked as he moves to scatter the words across Dean’s chest and shoulders, stopping between syllables to mark Dean up even more.

            With a grunt Dean rocks himself down, three of Sam’s ridiculous fingers buried to the knuckles inside him, head tilted back as Sam’s lips latch onto his Adam’s apple.  “And that’s not gonna happen until this is balls deep inside me.”  Dean reaches behind himself and gives Sam’s cock a long, twisting stroke, feeling heavier in his hand than normal and holy _shit_ he needs Sam to get inside him soon, Sam’s fingers getting to the point of nowhere near enough.

            “Just gonna let me do everything until the main event, is that it?” Sam licks a bead of sweat from where it’s dripping down Dean’s neck up to his mouth, Dean choosing to suck on Sam’s tongue instead of answering for a moment.

            Dean breaks the kiss just long enough to murmur “exactly.”  Dean maps the letter “D” on the roof of Sam’s mouth with the tip of his tongue, right as Sam slides in finger number four and crooks them in such a way that Dean feels extremely violated; of course, he’s not going to make Sam stop, either.

            Sam can feel precome dripping down his cock, using his left hand to rub it into his skin, feeling for the lube as he gives Dean one more good kiss, removing his fingers from Dean’s ass and wrapping his now free arm around Dean’s waist, lifting him with just a forearm and keeping him up as he gets himself good and wet.

            Dean steadies himself on the back of the seat as Sam guides himself to his hole, Dean’s teeth clenching as he sucks down a breath when the head of Sam’s cock pushes into him.  Sam’s uniformly thick all the way down, every inch of him making Dean feel like he’s being split in two – Dean’s ready for it though, and every time he still marvels at how _full_ he feels.

            Dean waits a full minute before he starts moving, nothing but the sound of panting breath and his heartbeat echoing in his ears.  Sam’s whole body, it seems, is trying to pulse in sync with Dean’s, adjusting to the fit of Dean around him, every time they do this just as breathtaking as it was the first.  Sam’s been trying hard to make up for the two years he didn’t have _this_ , whether Dean’s aware of that or not he doesn’t know.  As far as Dean’s concerned, they’ve just been fucking like they did before.  A lot.

            Sam opens his eyes, looking up at Dean and forcing the complex parts of hit brain to create words, a Sisyphean task if there ever was one, Dean’s ass the the boulder keeping him from speaking.

            “Gonna rock my world now, babe?”  Sam’s proud of those five words, since they required a great deal of effort to string together, even if they did come out more as suggestions of words than anything coherent.

            “Damn straight, Sammy.”  Dean clenches himself around Sam’s dick, knees and toes dug as far into the leather underneath them as they’ll go, moving his hips in an achingly slow circle.  It causes Sam’s dick to feel like it’s pressed straight into the back of his stomach but that’s a price he’s willing to pay, once upon a time when he was thinner actually able to feel Sam’s dick through his belly.  Sam meanwhile keeps himself from losing it completely by clinging onto Dean’s hips, just the slightest hint of love handles being marked up courtesy of Sam’s fingernails digging hard into his skin.

            Dean growls as Sam squeezes him, swiveling his hips again but in the opposite direction, a mighty effort on his part to keep his ass clenched that tightly around Sam’s dick, Sam by biology and genetics alone making that a difficult move to execute; then again, Sam’s drawn out moan of desire makes any strain on Dean’s part fucking _worth it._

            “Fuck, Dean, your fucking _ass_ -“

            “Is fucking _magic_ , Sam.”  Dean doesn’t do Kegels just for his own benefit, and it pays off handsomely at times like this.

            “You’re really gonna brag, right now?”

            “Why the hell not?  You’re in a position to listen.”  Dean laughs, kissing Sam’s face and neck as he starts to rock himself back and forth.

            “Guh” is all Sam has to offer as a retort, hoping that Dean interprets that as a sound of agreement. _Of course_ he’ll listen, so long as Dean keeps doing _that_.   Dean’s got hips that put most strippers, male or female, to complete shame. Not to be outdone, though, Sam takes his right hand off of Dean’s hip and grabs his cock, long fingers coiling around the shaft, his thumb situated just under the head.  Sam jerks Dean once, a languorous motion that makes Dean leak precome all over his stomach.

            Dean goes cross eyed as a result, the timing of Sam’s hand lining up perfectly as he rubs his prostate over the head of Sam’s dick.  Sam scoops Dean’s precome up with his fingers, licking it off in such a way that Dean wonders how it doesn’t give him a heart attack right then and there.  Sam then slides his tongue between Dean’s lips, letting him taste himself.  Dean whines into Sam’s mouth, the burst of salt and Sam sending his mind reeling.  Dean decides right then that he’s had enough screwing around and braces himself against Sam’s shoulders, hauling himself up nearly clear of Sam’s cock completely.

            Sam’s almost anticipating it, watching Dean lift himself up and then slam back down – it’s still absolutely earth shattering.   Dean fucks himself wet and sticky up and down his cock, desperation and base need making his movements unfocused yes but also beautifully uninhibited.  There’s a lingering semblance of a kiss between them, mostly hot and harsh breaths into each other’s mouths, sucking down the same oxygen and feeling their lips scrape against the other’s teeth.  Sam makes a nominal effort at trying to fuck Dean but it’s no use, Dean going full tilt into power bottom mode, not letting Sam gain a bit of ground as he fucks himself stupid on Sam’s cock.

            Sam’s words are nearly lost in the violence of Dean colliding himself with Sam’s body.  “Dean, babe, gotta slow down, _please_.”  Sam’s going to come before he wants to and Dean’s not helping with that goal.

            “Hell no – been after this for a week, Sammy.” Dean comes back down particularly hard, feeling the first jolt of orgasm flare in his gut like lightning across a dark summer sky.

            “ _Dean_.”  Sam tries to warn him but it’s of absolutely no use, feeling his control shatter and he comes, spunk dripping out of Dean’s ass as Dean races to the finish, drawing his orgasm out and making the whole sky tear in two behind his eyelids. Dean’s teeth latch onto Sam’s neck as Sam tosses his head back in reflex and the sharp sensation of pain mixed with pleasure makes Sam come again, hot on the heels of his first orgasm, vaguely aware of Dean’s spunk landing on his chest and stomach as Dean comes untouched.

            Sam, Dean is quite proud to admit, has truly had his world rocked, in spite of the fact that his ass is going to be sore as hell come morning.

            They don’t move a muscle until their breathing has slowed and Dean’s come has half dried on Sam’s body, the leather seat squeaking as Dean begrudgingly untangles his limbs from Sam’s.  There’s a moment of supreme awkwardness as Sam pulls his half-soft dick out of Dean’s ass, not wanting to make more of a mess than they have as he tries to keep his spunk from running out and getting all over the seat. Dean averts his eyes as he feels it anyway, sticky and warm and adding to the sweat and lived-in leather smell already permeating the air.

            “Fuck,” is all Sam has to say, completely unwilling to move any further as Dean reaches for a rag tucked under the driver’s seat.

            “Again already Sam?  Thought you came twice just now.”  Dean grins, satisfied and rosy-cheeked.

            “I did.”  Sam stretches out so that Dean can wipe him down.  “Maybe tomorrow, if you’re good.”

            “Aren’t I always?”  Dean tosses the rag aside and tucks himself up under Sam’s left arm, breathing in the comforting scent of Sam’s sated body, pulling it around his shoulders and throwing his leg over Sam’s.

            “No.”

            “Aw, c’mon.”

            “Only when you’re horny or hungry.”

            “So all the time.”

            Sam can’t help but laugh, nuzzling Dean’s forehead and listening to Dean’s grunt of protest at being jostled.  “It’s a good thing I tolerate you – no one else would.”

            “So I’ve basically got it made, thanks for reminding me.”  Dean kisses Sam’s chest and closes his eyes.

            They listen to the night around them for a long while, now that things have quietened down.  It’s idyllic, in a way, both sated and sticky in the only true home they’ve ever had.  Sam turns his head to look out the window, the stars and moon bright enough to make silvery light bathe their skin.

            “Dean, where are we gonna go when the sun comes up?”  It’s barely a whisper, Sam hoping that Dean’s asleep and not listening.

            It’s too much to hope for, Sam finds.  “We’ll figure it out, Sammy, I promise.”  Dean squeezes him reassuringly and lifts his head.  “C’mere,” Dean says, smiling as he kisses Sam one more time, a long good-night-we’ll-be-okay-and-don’t-you-worry-a-bit sort of kiss, lasting until Sam relaxes and unconsciousness drags him into mostly blissful sleep.

            Dean forces himself to believe his own words and drifts for another hour, the first time in a long while that he’s not been sure of what the next bend in the highway will throw at them.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean wakes up feeling a lot sorer than he had the previous morning, and not just from another night of sleeping in the Impala.  His whole lower body protests as he sits up, an effort of monumental proportions being made as he props himself up on his elbows.  He looks around, blinking slowly until his eyes focus and he’s slightly more aware of his surroundings. 

            The first thing he notices is that Sam’s not there.

            Not necessarily a bad thing, but Dean’s concern level rises anyway.  It’s his job, after all.  The car’s still in the exact same spot it was last night, meaning they haven’t – or at least Dean hasn’t – gone anywhere.

            Secondly, it’s daylight.  Like bright, full on daylight and according to the Impala’s dashboard clock it’s been that way for a solid three hours.

            Now Dean’s fully awake, and that’s without a drop of coffee in him.

            Sam, bless him, finally makes an appearance, visible through the windshield - except he’s being chased, naked from the waist up, by a rather angry looking gentleman with a wicked-looking double barreled shotgun. 

            _Shit._

            Dean can’t hear what’s going on but he can see that Sam is trying to speak and run at the same time.  Dean’s about to get out of the car when he realizes that he’s still naked.  Any other time this wouldn’t be a problem but then it hits him – they’re trespassers, and Dean’s willing to bet money that the shotgun that man has is sign number one that trespassing isn’t welcome here.

            Dean reaches down and finds the catch to put the front seat back up, daring it to get stuck and giving a silent thank you to the car fairies (shut up Sam, they totally exist) as it snaps into place, hurling himself over it as soon as it’s secure.  The keys are in the ignition and thank God for that, the Impala roaring to life as he realizes that Sam put his jeans and underwear on the dash for him.  Sam’s ten feet from the car now, long legs carrying him at top speed away from his pursuer. Dean has the door unlocked for Sam before he gets there, grabbing his boxers and stuffing them in around his cock, the neighbors having come out of their camper to see what the ruckus is all about.

            Sam bursts into the Impala, nearly out of breath as he shouts “go!” Dean’s got the car slammed into gear before Sam closes the door, back wheels throwing gravel as they rocket forward.  Their unwelcome guest raises the shotgun and Dean swerves before he can pull the trigger, hearing the pellets tap against the body, Sam having dropped low in his seat in reflex.

            They kick up on awful lot of dust as a result of their hasty exit, interrupting one family’s breakfast and earning themselves a chorus of protests and curses that they hear even over the roar of the Impala’s engine.  Dean’s trying to keep the car on the driveway without hitting anyone, swerving just in case that shotgun goes off again.

            “Dean, gate!”  Sam’s got a white knuckle grip on the dashboard, having spotted the metal fence gate that’s closed in front of them.  Instead of slowing down Dean accelerates, tires spinning wildly as they accelerate and crash through it, knocking the obstruction clear and then they’re on the road, narrowly dodging an eighteen wheeler whose driver Sam is almost positive got a good eyeful of Dean’s junk.

            Dean doesn’t slow down for at least three miles, hoping to God that there aren’t any police out patrolling this area of the county right now.  Spotting a small access road he pulls over, hops out of the car and hastily pulls his underwear and jeans on, Sam handing him his boots and keeping an eye out for other traffic as Dean shoves his feet inside and ties them up hastily.

            “Morning,” Sam almost cheerily says once they’re back on the road, Dean still looking out for any officers of the law.

“What the hell was that about?”  Dean slows them down to the speed limit, keeping a wary eye and ear out for sirens.

            Sam looks around for his shirt and thinks about putting it on, instead using it to wipe the sweat from his face and neck.  “I was using the bathroom and I guess the campground owner was patrolling for squatters.  Caught me with my dick out and everything.”

            Dean’s worry over them being arrested within the next ten seconds is temporarily forgotten at the mention of Sam’s junk.  “Bet he got a good eyeful, didn’t he?”

            Sam spares Dean his best look of complete and utter incredulity.  “I was more concerned about the shotgun he was pointing at me. I honestly don’t think he was out in the woods trolling for cock, Dean.”

            “I would be if I saw you..”

            “Dean!”

            “What, I’m just sayin’ Sammy!”  Dean grins, Sam wondering how and why he ever fell for his giant sleazeball of a brother.

            Then he remembers last night.

            And the nights, afternoons, days, and weeks stretching back the seven years before that.

            _Right._

“Sammy?”  Dean’s trying to look at him and the road at the same time, Sam having gotten that faraway look in his eyes again.

            “We need to figure out our next move, Dean.”  Sam shifts the subject back to relevant territory, Dean just having to suffer over it not being about his dick.  The whole no money thing is still very much an issue, and Sam’s hungry, his stomach growling in spite of his best attempts to ignore it.

            Dean sighs, his smile turning to a frown.  “Think we should look for a hunt while we’re in town? Bound to be a haunted plantation or two around here somewhere.”

            Sam shakes his head and pushes his hair back from his forehead.  “I’m talking about something that’ll earn us real money, _guaranteed_ money. Money we don’t have to hustle.  I’m sure that every card player in the county’s on the lookout for us, given our grand exit last night.”

            “It was pool.”  Dean almost had them, he really did.

            “Pool, cards, whatever – but we can’t go on nothing, Dean.”  Sam can see Dean struggling with whether or not he wants to agree out loud or by making his face of acceptance that he disguises as making his own decision.  (Dean isn’t nearly as mysterious as he likes to think, at least not to Sam.)

            “There’s always something, Sammy.” 

            “I’m all ears.”  Sam rolls down his window a little more, the sluggish air better than the A/C that’s barely keeping up.

            “I’m sure there are a couple joints around here where we could get away with a little hook-“

            “No way.”  The set of Sam’s jaw doesn’t leave any room for argument.

            Dean, of course, tries anyway.  “It’s fast and that way we can-“

            “No.”  Sam isn’t about to give himself up for a quick buck, for a whole host of reasons, the number one being he’s Dean’s and no one else’s.  That and ew, gross.  Sam’s not had any STIs before now and doesn’t plan on breaking that pattern.

            Dean sighs, knowing that Sam’s not going to budge on that one.  “We could stick around here and wait for Bobby to send us a card or something.”

            “Send it to where?  We can’t exactly post the Impala as an address.” 

            Dean purses his lips, brow furrowed in frustration.  “I don’t suppose you’re open to employing the five finger discount, are you?”

            “We probably already have the law out for us, remember that.  Stealing isn’t going to help us a bit.”  Sam’s next idea is probably one that Dean’s going to resent but it’s their best – and only, really - option for the time being.

            “Well, I’m all out of thoughts on the subject so if you’ve got something knocking around in that big old brain of yours, I’d love to hear it.”  Dean reaches over and rubs Sam’s knee, a gesture of apology for the mess they’re in.

            “We could, you know, get a job.”  Sam looks out his window as he says it, not wanting to experience Dean’s reaction to the suggestion quite yet.

            His answer, for the moment at least, is silence.

            Sam waits a moment before he turns back towards his brother, Dean staring out the windshield, wearing a neutral expression on his face.  That can be a good or bad thing, Sam’s found.  It means Dean’s either going to say yes or call Sam a fool for suggesting it.  Dean can be reasonable when he chooses, Sam knows, and Sam would like to think that after all this time that his opinion does carry at least a little weight against Dean’s world-class self-righteousness.

            “You really think the locals would give us a second look, Sam?  We’re not from around here and you know how these little towns are, only trustin’ folks that they’ve known all their lives.”

            It’s a far better answer than Sam was hoping for.  “I’m pretty sure you could charm yourself into running the company.”

            “I’d need a shower and a shave first, don’t you think?”

            Sam smiles, reaching up and scritching his fingers through the hair on Dean’s cheek.  “The stubble’s hot though – makes you look older.  Older means experience.”

            Dean beams, looking at himself for a moment in the rear view mirror.  “Fine then, just a shower.”

            Sam smiles, Dean’s ego served for the moment and keeping his mind off of just how out of their wheelhouse this particular scheme is.  “Speaking of, where do you plan on doing? It’s not exactly like we can just ask for rain to hop around in.”

            “How about that?”  Dean points out the windshield, a small lake stretching out before them.  Sam grabs the map and reads the name of it out loud.

            “Lake Cooley.”  Sam can see a couple boats out on the water but there are plenty of trees surrounding the edge, definitely more than enough cover for an impromptu bath.

            “Feeling up for a swim, Sammy?”  Dean’s already easing the car over to the side of the road, chancing it that no one will stop to see why they’re pulled over.

            “God, yes.”  Sam’s out of the car before Dean’s even shut it off, already imagining the water lapping at his sides.  He walks around to the back, grabbing his shower bag from where it was hastily stuffed into his duffel the night before.  Dean joins him shortly, sliding his arm around Sam’s waist right as Sam’s gathering up his stuff.

            “Didn’t get a good morning kiss earlier.”  Dean leans in, pungent from morning breath but Sam doesn’t care, not when for a few minutes earlier he almost had himself convinced he’d get to do this again, the guy with the shotgun this close to making good on his promise to shoot “some pervert pissin’ all over his campground.” 

            Dean pulls away right as things are getting interesting, grabbing a towel and a change of clothes and heading down to the lake’s edge.  Sam decides that their kiss getting cut short is worth it to watch Dean’s ass for a moment before he follows suit, double checking that the Impala’s locked before doing the same. 

            They’ve found good spot to take get cleaned up in, Sam looking around quickly for snakes or anything else that might not take kindly to their presence before taking off his shoes and stripping. Dean’s already in the water, just the top of his head visible as he enjoys the coolness of the enveloping his body.  He bobs back up when he sees Sam splash in, treading through soft sand and roots over to him.

            Sam’s already got his arms open as Dean approaches.  “You’d make a sexy water nymph.”

            “Think we’ve killed enough of those to know they aren’t, Sammy.”  Dean kisses down Sam’s neck, cupping his hands to pour lake water over Sam’s back and shoulders.

            “That feels awfully good.”  Sam’s head rests on Dean’s shoulder, kissing tanned, wet skin that’s gone goosepimply from the water.

            “Mmm.”  Dean agrees by scratching Sam’s back, lower and lower until he’s almost at Sam’s ass.

            “Dean?”

            “Yeah?”

            “We need to get cleaned up before someone sees us or the car and starts asking questions.”

            Dean groans, letting go of Sam reluctantly.  “You ruin everything.”

            “Just telling it like it is, babe.”  Sam wades back over to the shoreline and grabs the soap.  “But I will wash you, how about that?”

            Dean figures that much is okay and raises his arms, beckoning Sam over with his chin. “All yours, baby boy.”

            Sam scrubs Dean down thoroughly, holding him down every time (as well as he can anyway) he starts to get gropey with one hand and scouring Dean’s body to the point of near pain, Dean fighting and growling and splashing the whole time. They do have more pressing matters to attend to, however, and Dean’s being stubborn.

            “You done yet, or are you gonna keep up your corporal punishment via Irish Spring a little longer?”

            Sam lets Dean go after he’s finished making him decent and presentable to the world, turning down Dean’s offer to help him.  Dean sulks, Sam knowing that if Dean “helps” then they’ll never get out of the water, and Sam’s stomach is letting him know that he – probably both – of them need to eat soon.

            Dean does stick around to watch Sam wash himself though, paying extra close attention as Sam washes his hair and there’s an endless line of abs and chest on display, accented perfectly by the wet curls of Sam’s pubic hair sticking out above the water.   Dean reaches down and touches himself, completely unashamed as he ogles on his brother.

            Sam catches him perving and pulls a face that betrays not the slightest bit of amusement.  “How can you possibly still be horny after last night?”

            “Trust me, it’s entirely your fault.”  Dean treads water over to where Sam’s standing, lingering just out of reach.  “And all it would take is just one flash of those and we’d be in business really fuckin’ quick.” On the word “those,” Dean points at Sam’s stomach. Being on the move so much and getting back in the saddle of hunting life has encouraged Sam to step his workout routine back up, making him even more cut and beefy than normal – looking completely different from the lean, soft not quite kid he’d picked up from Stanford almost a year ago.

            Sam blushes and tries to hide behind his wet bangs.  “I don’t think so.”

            Dean splashes and sloshes water all around as he gestures at Sam’s body.  “Dude, give yourself a little more credit!  Seriously, you’re so fucking hot baby boy.”  Dean tilts Sam’s chin up, looking him square in the eye. “My handsome, gorgeous Sammy.”

            “Since when are you so free with compliments?”  Sam’s voice gets real quiet, tilting his head forward so that his lips are barely an inch from Dean’s.

            “Since…”

            _Since I realized that we aren’t invincible and you need to hear me say it, Sam._

_Since we lost our dad and you’re pretty much all I have left and I need you now more than ever._

“Does there have to be a reason?”  Dean gives an easy shrug, a grin working in conjunction with the gesture so as not to betray his thoughts.

            “No.”  Sam eyes him with a look approaching suspicion, but he sees that _something,_ dwelling deep in Dean’s pupils, forest green darkening to jade, this close to asking Dean what he’s thinking; Sam refrains at the last second, not worth Dean telling him to stop being all girly.

            “Alright then.”  Dean kisses Sam briefly and starts to pull away, only for Sam to reel him back in and hug him from behind.

            “Thank you.”  Dean knows it means more than just thanks for the compliment but that goes without saying – Sam knows he understands.

            Dean allows himself to take comfort in Sam’s arms for just a moment, part of him not wanting Sam to ever let go.  “Alright, get off me you big girl.”  Sam kisses his neck anyway before he releases his hold on Dean, taking a deep breath before ducking under the water to get the last of the shampoo out, coming back up and shaking, much to Dean’s chagrin as he gets sprayed.

            “You did that on purpose.”  Dean’s already starting to dry off, not being able to pretend to be that angry, given that it’s Sam and Sam being naked and Sam’s junk hanging in all its weighty glory _right there_ , Dean unable to look away from it even if he wanted to.

            Dean’s going to have a semi all day from that image alone.

            “I did.”  Sam blows him a kiss and grabs his own towel, drying off as quickly as he can – that they haven’t been caught yet has to be an unprecedented streak of luck so far as it goes for Winchesters.  “That a problem?”

            Dean frowns, pulling on his boxers with indigence.  “Nope.  Just next time you decide to shake like an overgrown German shepherd I’m gonna be over there.”

            Dean’s buttoning up his jeans when a still very naked Sam pins him to the grass and looms over his body like he’s contemplating making Dean his next meal.  “Tell you what – once we figure out a plan and aren’t starving we I can get you wet in a way I _know_ that you’ll enjoy.”

            Dean honestly doesn’t have a response to that aside from licking his lips and rubbing himself a little because _hell yes_ he’s down for that.

            Sam rolls off of him and gets dressed, leaving his socks and shoes off until he can lean against the Impala to put them on.  Dean decides a shirt is optional for the time being and stuffs his feet down into his boots, sliding them off his feet again before sitting on the hood to put on his socks and lace up.  Sam’s perched next to him, doing a few stretches to work out the kinks that have worked themselves into his muscles, shirt riding up and presenting Dean with the waistband of his underwear and dark treasure trail.

            Like hell if Dean’s going to be able to keep his hands to himself all day.

            Sam wiggles his hips after he’s done, shaking out the last of his tension.  “Ready?”  He ogles Dean’s still shirtless body, feeling like he shouldn’t encourage his brother to cover up something so breathtakingly magnificent.

            Dean looks over himself, then back at Sam.  “Tell you what – your turn to drive.”  Dean tosses Sam the keys and steals a kiss when they cross paths, tangling his fingers in Sam’s shirt for a very intense ten seconds before he lets him go, feeling his cock swell more before he even gets in the car.

            Just because he’s hungry doesn’t mean he can’t torture Dean a little and it is already sweltering so Sam decides to roll up the sleeves of his t-shirt, his right bicep flexing as he starts the car and shifts into drive, keeping his arm high on the steering wheel so that Dean has a prime view of his arm, tanned from fingertip to shoulder.

            “Next town up is Laurens – we crossed the county line earlier.”  Sam’s had the map memorized since last night.

            Dean makes himself comfortable in the passenger seat, legs akimbo as he grabs a pair of sunglasses and turns on the radio.  “Any idea what it’s like?  Don’t believe we’ve ever been through it before.”  Dean drops his right hand to his crotch, fingers tapping along his bulge to the drumbeat of “Turbo Lover.”

            Sam notices the movement of Dean’s hand and smirks.  “That bad, babe?”

            “Been horny since before we took a dip in that lake, Sammy.  Mind if I take care of business?”  Dean’s already unzipping his jeans before Sam can answer.

            Sam’s smirk turns gleefully lecherous.  “Like you have to ask.” Sam switches his left hand over to the wheel and reaches over to give Dean a grope, making Dean groan.

            “Feels way better when you do it.”  Dean’s been convinced for years now that Sam knows his dick better than he does.

            “And I’m driving.  Besides, if we get pulled over for public indecency-“

            “It’s my fault but hey, at least I’m givin’ ‘em a show they won’t get to see again.”  Dean shimmies his jeans and boxers partway down his thighs, cock landing with a rather loud thwack against his stomach.  Sam licks his lips, Dean’s cock not as long as his but just as thick, darker in tone than the rest of his body.  Sam can’t help but take a long glance at the head of Dean’s dick, the same gorgeous pink as his lips and more mushroom shaped as opposed to Sam’s helmet.  Dean slides his foreskin down real slow, pulling it all the way back and using the palm of his left hand to rub over the head, the rough skin making sensation crawl hot over his body.

            Sam’s doing okay with mostly focusing on the road until Dean opens his fucking mouth.

            “God, Sammy baby, feels so fucking good.”  Dean’s got his eyes closed and his head tossed back, slowly jerking and rubbing his dick at the same time.  Dean’s a noisy fuck when he beats off anyway (yes, he and Dean still do it without each other sometimes) but it’s rarely fully articulated words, just repeated swears and groans and hitches of his breath that drive Sam when he hears them.

            “Tell me, Dean.”  Sam’s hard now too, slowing the Impala down and wondering how they haven’t passed anyone on the road into town yet.  He reaches down and flicks open the button of his jeans, hunger forgotten for the moment in favor of what’s going to be the wildest time touching himself he’s ever had.

            “Been thinkin’ about that first time after Stanford, Sammy.  How fucking bad I had missed that big fuckin’ cock inside me.  Drives me so fucking crazy, feeling it.”  Dean sucks on his bottom lips and turns his head, noticing the movement of Sam’s hand inside his pants. “Hadn’t come that hard in two years, Sammy.  Nothin’ ever gets me off like you do, fucking nothing baby boy.”  Dean’s sped up now, the precome slicking his palm and the head of his cock, chest rising and falling with ever increasing rapidity.  “Turns me on so much knowin’ my baby bro has a fucking horse cock between his legs and that it’s all fuckin’ _mine_.”

            Sam’s not expecting to so much precome  on his fingers but it’s there all the same, so deeply aroused that it’s nearly a constant flow, feeling it stick to his underwear and the insides of his fingers.   “Fuck, Dean, don’t stop.”  Sam can smell it almost, Dean’s arousal and body; it’s more intoxicating than the weed they occasionally shotgun, better than fucking while buzzy drunk and the lights are turned down low.

            “God, Sammy, remember the first time you topped me?  Looked so fucking hot in that soccer uniform.  Never got so hard so fucking fast in my life, just had to get on my knees for my fucking sexy jock brother.  Perfect fucking jailbait in that jockstrap Sam, feeling it against my ass when you fucked me.”  Dean’s strung out on arousal now, the heat and knowing Sam’s so turned on that the car keeps veering off to the side making him feel almost like he’s taken a hit of something mighty potent.

            Sam gets his cock out, pointed straight up against his stomach and rubbing against his t-shirt, right hand working himself so that every time his callused fingers come back up to circle the head his moans match Dean’s in volume and frequency.

            “Christ, Dean, fucking…”  Sam doesn’t have it in him to manage more than that.

            “Yeah, that’s it Sammy, jack that big fucking dick for me.  Fucking love watchin’ that.”  Dean can feel his orgasm getting close, hand getting faster now and Sam can hear the slap slap slap of his balls against his skin, the slick of precome wet and filthy as Dean’s foreskin slides fast on and off the head of his dick, Dean’s back arched now as he tenses for climax.  His eyes are glued on Sam’s cock, fascinated by the way Sam’s got this twisting motion going on that makes his whole body shiver every time his palm rubs over the head.

            “Dean, gonna fucking-“ Sam comes, three good spurts shooting right up his shirt to his chest, the rest dribbling out over his cock and hand; how he manages so much after coming twice – and hard – last night is beyond him but the site of Sam hunched over the wheel in a paroxysm of pleasure has Dean shooting off like a rocket, soaking himself and the window, Sam’s name on his lips as he wrings his cock dry.  Sam hears it land on the seat, unable to resist as he reaches over to Dean and swipes some up with his fingers, intent on bringing to his own lips but Dean beats him to it, greedily sucking on Sam’s fingers, his tongue tickling as he cleans between each one and then finishes with Sam’s palm.

            Sam’s the first to speak once he’s able to see straight again, knocking it up to some miracle that they didn’t crash.  “Fucking hell, Dean, that was awesome.”

            Dean stretches back after he’s pulled up his pants again, arms folded behind his head, completely aware of the come drying on his body but too lazy to do much of anything about it right now.

            “Think the good citizens of Laurens will take kindly to us doing that within city limits?”

            “Probably not but if you come like that again they might.”  Sam reaches over and rests his hand on Dean’s thigh, squeezing once before keeping it there.

            “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”  Dean turns his head and gives Sam his best grin, earning dimples brighter than sunshine in return.

            Sam’s stomach growls even louder, and Dean kicks himself internally.

___

            They roll into Laurens proper twenty minutes later, Sam having gone slow so that they had time to clean up before entering town - he doesn’t think that somehow the locals would like the sight of he and Dean covered in spunk as their first impression of them, Sam’s personal preferences aside.  There’s actually quite a bit of traffic on the road, Sam’s estimate of just a couple thousand people having been off.  Still, it’s a typical quaint Southern town – churches, mom and pop stores, a main street with a historical district at one end.  Sam can’t help but think that he and Dean are going to stick out awfully bad, especially since they’re riding around in a gleaming black muscle car and Dean still hasn’t put a shirt on.

            Still, the gas needle’s reading a quarter of a tank and they won’t be going far unless that changes soon.

            Dean sits up and looks around, a group of college girls (Sam had seen the sign for Presbyterian University on the way in) staring at both he and Sam with equal amounts of interest.  Dean smiles back at them, his expression approaching something close to predatory.

            “What do you say Sammy, should we corrupt a couple good girls?  Give ‘em something to think about during Bible History or whatever?” 

            Sam doesn’t even bother looking at him as he searches for somewhere to park.  “Leave the nice girls alone, Dean.  They’re not interested in your hedonistic ways.”

            Dean reaches for his discarded shirt and pulls it on over his head. “ _You_ like my hedonistic ways and _you_ act like a girl sometimes.”  Dean checks himself in the mirror as he keeps talking.  “Besides, they weren’t just imagining me naked – saw a couple blondes giving you the once over, probably imagining if the Sammy d could rock their world.”

            Sam can’t help but smile just a little bit.  “They’re just gonna have to keep imagining.”  Sam appreciates his brother’s support, odd as it is, but he couldn’t be less interested in anyone else.

            “Their loss, I guess.”  Dean notices that Sam still has his come tacky t-shirt on, the stuff having dried on the front and while they could pass it off as pretty much anything Dean figures it’d be best for them to not go stomping around town and Sam have spunk on him.

            “Hey, Sam…”

            “Yeah?”

            Dean gestures to his t-shirt.

            “Oh, right.”  Sam parks them in front of a coffee shop and gets out, crossing his arms at the center of his body as he hooks his fingers in the hem of his shirt and peels it off, Dean going a little stupid as he watches Sam’s torso make an appearance in broad daylight.  He can’t help but get out of the car for a better view, his perfunctory interest in college girls gone as he watches Sam saunter around to the trunk and get out a clean shirt.

            Dean whistles as Sam puts it on, a black tank top that Dean had forgotten he even owned.

            Sam shakes his head at Dean’s shamlessness.  “Down, boy.”  Sam grabs his deodorant and puts some on, tossing Dean his stick at the same time.

            “Hey, can you blame me?”  Dean walks over to wear Sam’s standing and puts his hands on his waist.  “Damned fine view, if you ask me.”

            Sam flexes his biceps purely to watch Dean’s jaw go slack. “And you’ll have all the time in the world to admire it later but right now we have a job.”

            “You have to ruin everything, don’t you?”  Dean lets go of him and pouts, Sam’s back and shoulders on display for everyone to see and Dean kind of hates that – until he sees the scratch marks that he left there, made in the wake of a positively mind-blowing orgasm where Sam had fucked him three times in a row, still fading after a week and then he remembers that he’s the only one who gets to put such things on Sam’s body. 

            That, at least, he can live with.

            Sam fishes his laptop out of his bag and closes the trunk, spotting the free wi-fi sign in the window of the coffee shop – Ned’s, Sam sees is the name.  Sam’s also hoping that Ned hangs onto yesterday’s donuts and bagels and that he’s willing to sell them for a reduced price – Sam had found some change stuffed down in the front seat, over a dollar’s worth.

            That should cover for a couple slightly stale bagels and some water, right?

            Dean’s checking out their surroundings, constantly on patrol for things that could be dangerous to Sam and himself but even then it’s not exactly thorough – Sam’s not getting any sort of weird vibe from this town.  That in and of itself should be enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck but for once, Sam doesn’t mind.  They need a break from hunting life for a while, physically and mentally.

            Dean smiles at a pretty red-headed lady coming out of the coffee shop, checks out her ass, and then nearly runs into the door where Sam doesn’t wait to hold it open for him, pinching Sam’s butt in retribution and earning himself a growl and a muttered “knock it off.”  The place is done in upscale Southern style, tasteful and elegant with an old-style antebellum feel; Sam can almost see a Southern belle sipping coffee in here and finds himself wondering if there are any free tours of the historic district…

            Ned is an older gentleman who looks like he just came in off of the farm, plaid shirt draped over his loose frame and his iron-gray hair cut short.  Maybe he was a farmer and decided a coffee shop was the way to go?  Sam keeps it to himself, instead smiling pleasantly while Dean cases the joint.

            “Good morning sir – I was wondering if you keep yesterday’s bagels or anything like that.”  Sam widens his smile, hoping for the best, flexing a little just in case Ned swings for the home team and the sight of twenty four year old muscle wrapped in a thin tank top greases his joints.

            Ned studies him for a moment, scratching the whiskers on his chin.  “Boy, you’re a sight comin’ in here and askin’ for yesterday’s grub, ain’t you?  But yessir, ah do keep ‘em – twenty five cents apiece, no tax.” Ned uncovers a tray on the counter behind him, handing over four for Sam’s dollar.

            “And you can put all that away boy, ah ain’t interested.  Don’t take to kindly to your type ‘round these parts no how.” 

            Dean steps in and rescues Sam from saying anything that might get them kicked out.  “You’ll have to forgive him, he’s a little delirious from hunger.  Mind if we get a couple cups of water to go with that?”

            Ned pours from a pitcher of ice water and hands two cups to Dean without saying much else.  Dean smiles and walks over to where Sam’s already tearing into a bagel.

            “I, for one, appreciated the gun show Sammy – but I don’t think it’s gonna get you very far here.”  Dean’s not exactly a huge fan of bagels but beggars can’t be choosers and honestly he’s just as hungry as Sam, so stale or not they taste like heaven.

            Even if they would be better with some cream cheese.

            Sam’s tapping away at his laptop, with one hand, drinking water like he’s dying of thirst with the other. Dean can’t help but watch Sam’s throat work as he swallows, especially since Sam’s being unintentionally pornographic about it and it comes to mind it’s been ages since he’s been on the receiving end of a blowjob – would Sam be down for that within the next hour or so?  
            “You just came forty five minutes ago so you’re gonna have to wait til later.”  Sam doesn’t even look up at him, just keeps scrolling and not making hit throat do obscene things.

            “How did you…”

            “Because you’re easy Dean, that’s why.  Now if you could get me some more water, please?”  Sam gives him his best puppy dog eyes and Dean grumbles as he gets up, Ned not looking at all happy to see him back at his counter.  All the same he has to be hospitable and they haven’t technically done anything wrong – yet.

            Dean comes back and Sam lowers the lid of his laptop to address him.  “Well, I looked for hunts – that thing last week up in the mountains has been the only strange death in the state in the last year, Dean.  Looks like South Carolina’s just not a hotbed of supernatural activity.”  Sam takes his water and drains half the cup before resuming his telling of what he’s found.  “The thing is, we can’t go anywhere until we have money.”

            “And this place is just booming with jobs, isn’t it?”  Dean crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, smiling to himself when he feels Ned’s eyes on him at his treatment of his furniture.

            “I tried most everything that doesn’t require some sort of degree and where they won’t ask any questions.  The only things that sound like they could be of any help to us are for a cook down at the Burger King and running a mail route.  Either of those interest you?”

            “They both need references, don’t they?”

            Sam shrugs. “It’s probably not best that we try to get into government work or the restaurant business.  They’d want us to stick around or find out who we actually are.”

            Dean sighs and sets his chair down.  “So basically we’ve landed in the worst possible place for our situation.”

            Sam gives him a sympathetic look and resists taking Dean’s hands in his own.  “Could always ask around and see if anyone needs farm help.”

            “Because we know so much about that.”

            “Hey, I took a farming class my junior year of high school!”

            “Don’t think that exactly qualifies us for that sort of work.”

            “You’re supposed to be the optimistic one, Dean.”  Sam gets quiet, looking down at the table.

            Dean studies him for a moment, mouth open like he’s going to say something but he can’t decide what.  “We’ll find something Sammy.”

            Sam closes his eyes, voice barely a whisper.  “It just reminds me of the times that… we didn’t have.”  Sam knows that Dean gets what he means – the times when John left them with literally nothing to go on, just a mumbled promise he’d be back soon and for them to be good. 

            Sam still remembers those, all too vividly.

            “I know, Sam.”  Dean leans forward and clasps his left hand gently around Sam’s wrist.  “Not exactly easy to flash gap toothed smiles at the little old lady down the road for cookies, huh?” 

            Sam gives him a wan smile in spite of himself.  “Now we have to flex and pose and even then they want more than to just toss out cookies.”

            “No, _you_ flex and pose.  You’ve got better muscles anyway.”  Dean squeezes Sam’s forearm, just to prove his own point to himself.

            “Don’t shortchange yourself, babe.”  Sam stairs at Dean’s shoulders, his shirt stuck fast to them due to sweat, licking his lips and being able to imagine quite well what his hands look like against them while he fucks Dean into next week.

            Dean gets a goofy smile because of the pet name and only Ned’s noise of disgust keeps him from climbing into Sam’s lap and making out with him until the sun goes down.  “What were we talking about?”

            “Jobs?”

            Right as Dean’s about to reply the shop door swings open, the bell over it clanging loudly as in bursts a woman, buxom as they come and her graying hair tied back in a tight bun.

            “Ah swear there ain’t no one ah can count on in this god-blessed town, Ned.”  Sam and Dean look at her, exchanging a look of amusement at the rather grand entrance she made.

            “Aw, come on Nell, you’re interruptin’ business.”  Ned doesn’t seem very perturbed by Nell’s intrusion, going on with his sweeping and keeping his eye on Sam and Dan.

            “Ain’t got no business, ‘cept for… well ah don’t believe I’ve seen you two tall drinks of water ‘round here before.”  Whatever Nell had been complaining about when she came in is quickly forgotten when she spots Sam and Dean.  “Y’all just moved here or are you just passin’ through?”

            “Um, well, we’re stuck here, actually.”  Sam stands up and he towers over Nell by a solid foot at least.  “Sam Winchester. This is Dean.”  Sam opts to leave out the brother part since he’s sure Ned saw he and Dean making eyes at each other.

            Nell takes a step back out of reflex when both are standing before her, shaking their hands in turn.  “Inelda Linker, although most folks just call me Nell.  Pleasure to meet y’all, and ah I guess you can consider this to be your big Laurens welcome – and I hope my good brother over there has been very obliging, too.”  Sam can’t help but smile at her warmth and even Dean’s managing to not look terribly broody over Nell’s presence.  Ned disappears into the supply room off to one side and groans about Nell sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.

            “Aw, now come on Dean – you’re in South Carolina, ain’t got a good reason to not smile now do ya?”  Nell pats Dean’s shoulder and whistles.  “Must be y’all are related or something, cause genetics don’t just bless two strangers like that.”

            Dean automatically pulls closer to Sam when he sees Nell examining his upper body, unable to help it – it’s just reflex at this point.  “Sam and I-“

            Dean’s words are cut off by Sam’s heel digging into the top of his foot. “We’ve known each other for a really long time.  And thanks for the welcome Nell, but we really should get going.”

            Nell blocks their path and plants her fists on her ample hips.  “Now hold on just a minute, you said y’all were stuck, and it’d be a right poor show of me if ah I didn’t try to help.”

            Sam and Dean exchange a look, _should we tell her what’s going on, yeah you should Sammy, no harm in saying at least that much._

“We’re looking for some work, just for a little bit, enough to get save up some money so we can get back on the road.”  Sam decides that’s all he’s willing to divulge.

            Nell scratches her chin, eying both of them carefully.  “What sort of work are y’all qualified for?”

            “Anything you’ve got, ma’am.”  Dean speaks, finally, not wanting for Nell to think that he’s some sort of weirdo who doesn’t know how to act in public or in the presence of a stranger.

            “Y’all know anything about barkeepin’?  ‘Cause the two jackasses who were workin’ for me decided they’d rather sit on their asses than come to work and ah need someone at awfully short notice.”

            “I did some bartending in college and Dean knows a thing or two about flipping burgers.”  Sam’s being mostly truthful – he tended bar, yes, but it was mostly just pouring shots at the local biker bar the summer between his sophomore and junior years – hardly a challenge, but it’s what he’s got, and Bobby taught Dean how to cook burgers and other simple foods when they were growing up, just in case.

            “And I’m gonna need a reference, just in case.  Can y’all provide that for me?” Nell’s already made her decision, perpetually unable to turn down the lost and downtrodden.

            But she has to make just a little bit of a show, doesn’t she?

            Sam grabs a napkin and scribbles down one of Bobby’s phone numbers.  “Just call this number – we’ve worked for him a lot on and off over the years.”  Sam opts to leave out the part where the last time they worked with him was to kill a ghost out in Montana.

            Nell takes the napkin and stuffs it in her bosom.  “For safekeepin.’  Seeing as how there ain’t exactly no one else lining up to take the job, consider yourselves hired, boys.”

            From the back, Ned groans again and Nell just grins all the wider, grabbing the coffee Ned set out for her and beckoning Sam and Dean to follow.

___

            The Shell Box, as Nell’s bar is called, outwardly doesn’t look that different from a million other watering holes that Sam and Dean have frequented.  It’s an older building, wooden exterior with a front porch and an old cotton thresher sitting out front, intended to add to the rural ambience.  Sam can feel Dean hovering close, for once following Sam and not leading, Nell waddling along in front and talking up a storm about Laurens’ history and people.  Sam listens with half-hearted interest, more focused on what’s got Dean so on edge.

            The Shell Box is across the street from Ned’s, Sam not being able to keep the smile at his face that in spite of what has to be a healthy amount of sibling rivalry that Nell and Ned keep shop that close together.  Dean sees Sam’s grin and moves to where he can walk alongside Sam.

            “What are you smiling at?,”  Dean asks quietly.

            “Nell and Ned.”  Nell’s still talking, unlocking the front door to her bar and ushering them inside.

            “They’re weird.” 

            “Shhh.  One of them’s given us a job so I don’t really think you should say that.” 

            “Yeah, about that…”

            “Dean…”  Sam gives him a look that says ‘later’ and Dean quiets before he can say anything else.

            The Shell Box is a completely different place on the inside, done in dark woods and every surface gleams, polished to perfection.  It’s obvious that Nell runs a sound establishment, given the lack of shotgun marks in the ceiling and worn but obviously well taken care of chairs and tables.  It’s not fancy, simply tasteful, complete with neon-lit jukebox in one corner and a somewhat battered karaoke machine next to it.

            It’s all so fitting that Sam wonders for a second if they’ve stepped onto the set for a t.v. show.

            “How long has the place been open?”  Sam looks around some more, counting exits and how tight the space is, trying to imagine it fully packed.

            “Forty years – started workin’ here right after me and Ned’s parents passed.  Daddy opened it one day and a tractor accident killed him a week later.  Figured it was only right to keep the business goin’.  Ned started the coffee shop a few years ago with money made off of this here place.  Must’ve gotten tired of me runnin’ my mouth or somethin.’  You boys hungry?”  Nell walks behind the bar and past a door into the kitchen.

            Sam takes the opportunity to turn to Dean and get his reaction to all of this sudden change.  “Well?”

            In a fairly good imitation of Nell’s lilting accent, Dean replies “Ah believe that we got us a jawb for a goodly while, Sammy.”

            Sam hits him on the shoulder and fixes him with a frown.  “Behave.”

            “And if ah don’t?”  Dean’s not going to be defeated that easily, especially when he saw Sam’s pupils go wide with interest at the change in his voice.

            With a growl, Sam presses Dean up against the bar and murmurs low “I’ll see if you can keep that accent up while you sit on my dick.”

            “Challenge accepted, Sammy.”  Dean drops the accent and tries to squirm in such a manner that he’ll provoke Sam even more but Sam’s got him held tight, mouth parted like he wants to kiss him but knows that they’re likely better off not pulling that quite yet.  Dean can’t help but stare at this pretty pink lips, especially when they’re right there and Sam’s wearing that tank top and there’s all sorts of body heat being exchanged – yeah, Dean wants bad right now, and he’s _had_ Sam within the last twenty four hours.

            “Am I interruptin’ something, or do you two need a minute?”  Nell’s standing behind the bar, a wooden spoon in one hand and a more amused than angry expression on her face, looking right at Sam, Sam freezing like a deer in headlights and Dean not helping by holding on even tighter to Sam’s body.

            “Uh… sorry.”  Sam wriggles away from Dean, flushed scarlet from the cheeks down and looking down on the floor.  “You won’t have to worry about that.  Me and Dean rather, you know-“

            “No need to tell me, Sam.  Just that some folks aren’t quite as acceptin’ as others.  Personally I don’t care a hoot one way or the other, so long as you work hard.  I’ll have your grub finished in a few minutes, so just sit tight.”  Nell ambles back into the kitchen, leaving them alone at the bar again.

            Dean eases himself onto a barstool and pulls Sam in between his legs.  “Now that we’ve got the all clear on _that…_ ”

            “Dean, that wasn’t an _mmph_!”  Sam finds his mouth suddenly full of Dean’s tongue and Dean’s hands holding onto his hips, trying to pull Sam flush to his body and sucking on his tongue like he needs it to live.  Sam decides that letting Dean have this would be better than not and reaches up to cup Dean’s face, his hands shifting to behind Dean’s ears as he steps a little closer, tilting Dean’s head back.  Dean hooks his feet behind Sam’s knees, dragging himself forward until he’s just barely on the stool and is mostly supporting his weight on Sam.

            Sam deepens the kiss even more, any voice of reason telling him to not be kissing his brother in a conservative Southern town firmly and completely quashed by Dean’s poison-sweet lips, the worst addiction to ever happen to him and nine years in and Sam still can’t find a good reason to kick the habit.  Dean doesn’t make it any easier for him by moaning softly when Sam traces an “s” on the roof of his mouth, heartbeat thudding steady and loud in his ears and Sam’s proximity always ends up making it skyrocket hard and loud.  He wonders if at some point he can talk Sam into fucking him on or at least against the bar, never mind the fact that Nell Linker would very likely kill them if she bore witness to that.

            Or she’d sit back and watch – they’ve fucked in enough rooms with wall mirrors to know they look damned good balls deep in each other.  Or rather Sam looks good balls deep inside Dean, most of the time.

            Right as Dean’s about to lift Sam’s shirt up there’s a sudden, shocking dousing of cold water, Nell aiming the tap from the bar at them, Sam breaking away from Dean in a hurry and nearly pulling Dean off the barstool right onto the floor.  She doesn’t stop spraying until Dean’s good and soaked, since he was the closest.

            “Told y’all to behave yourselves.  Now if you want to work y’all better shape up and eat your lunch, cause y’all are gonna be busy here awfully soon.”  Nell puts the tap back and sets two plates on the bar, filled to the edges with cold cornbread and collard greens, two thick slices of ham a piece and what looks like homemade applesauce on the side.

            Dean confirms for himself that yes indeed, it is possible to be sexually aroused by food and immediately starts to tuck in, only for Nell to whack him with her spoon.

            “You say Grace before you start in, mister.”  The way Nell brandishes her utensil doesn’t exactly leave them with much room for argument.

            Both Sam and Dean bow their heads, Sam unable to keep the smile from his face after having gotten knocked down a peg or two. 

            Inelda Linker is a very, very special breed of human, Sam decides, if she can get Dean Winchester to say a blessing before starting in on a great big plate of home cooked Southern vittles – and endears him to her all the more.  He can’t help but be reminded of Missouri Mosley, even if the two are separated in physical appearance but certainly not in spirit.

            What’s equally amusing to hear is Dean stumbling through it, half-formed thanks to God and Heaven for the food, the company, and for Nell not killing them when he was making out with Sam. 

            That part at least earns Dean getting smacked with the spoon on the hand again.

___

            Their crash course introduction into the world of bartending is, to say the least, very brief.

            Nell spends a lot of time in the kitchen with Dean, Sam standing in the door way and watching Dean follow behind her as she moves from one place to the next, showing him where the plates are kept, how the griddle and other cooking surfaces work, Dean absorbing as much as he can as Nell keeps up her running commentary of information injected with anecdote – Dean spends a great deal of that time looking helplessly at Sam, Sam smiling back at him with his arms crossed over his chest.

            Dean has the confused/lost puppy dog look down just as well as Sam, no matter how many times he swears he doesn’t. If anything, Dean’s the one who patented that look – Sam merely adopted and adapted it to suit his own needs.  All the same, by the time Nell’s finished Dean looks reasonably comfortable where he stands, and starts getting things prepped and ready for opening.  It’s not that complicated of a menu – wings, burritos, biscuits, and a couple other fixings that should satisfy a thirst and hungry farmer or two. Dean, if Sam’s intuition is anything to be counted on, actually looks a little let down by the choices on the menu, like he won’t get to showcase his (admittedly self-aggrandizing) skills.

            It’s really, really cute and Sam kind of wants to kiss Dean again.

            Out front, there’s every conceivable possible liquor that one might want, along with just about every mixer Sam’s encountered and then a couple he hasn’t.  Sam’s fairly familiar with how it works, he just doesn’t know how fast he’s going to be at it.

            “Don’t worry hun, everybody’s a little slow starting out.  Took me a year to learn how to pour shots fast, and some folks around here are mighty fond of their whiskey.”  Nell’s reassurance is touching, but Sam doesn’t have the heart to tell her that he’s sure they’ll be out of here long before he gets to be any sort of good at it.

            Sam spends a long while familiarizing himself with where everything is, what tap pours what beer, when to refill the ice, and so on.  It’s a lot to take in but information and its retention is where Sam thrives like nothing else; if he can recite an exorcism ritual in six different languages, surely he can pour drinks and look pretty for tips, right?  
            Sam hopes so, anyway. He and Dean are truly out of options and it scares Sam, because no matter how bad it gets there’s always, _always_ been a solution of some sort.  The Winchesters are supposed to be good at combating bad luck, it’s practically embedded in their genetic code.  What’s worse is that Sam knows that this whole situation is eating at Dean twice as bad as it is at him; Dean likes to be in charge, to decide his own fate.  He can see already the ways he’s going to clash with Nell over the kitchen, because surely he’s going to want it one way and it’ll go against hers – it’s simply in Dean’s nature, stubborn to the last.  Sam almost wants to place bets as to who’ll flip shit first, because it’s sure to happen.  Sam can only have faith that the consequences don’t get them kicked out before they can accomplish what they’ve set out to do.

            Sam’s scribbling down a couple drink recipes on a scrap of paper to study later when Nell comes back from the kitchen, having finished telling Dean where things were.

            “Ah think you two are gonna do just fine, really.  Hell we may actually get some tips, if you flash them purdy dimples and puff out your chest a little.  Maybe even get a little more than that, huh Sam?”  Nell nudges Sam conspiratorially, winking at him with a grin as big as a possum.

            Sam returns her grin and ducks his head.  “Yeah, I’m... I’m good with just Dean.”

            Nell gives Sam an altogether different sort of knowing look.  “Y’all go steady then?”

            Sam thinks about that time when Dean was hardly in his life at all, those two agonizing years that he would lay awake half the night wishing it was Dean next to him and hating himself for not loving Jess as much.  “We’ve had our ups and downs but yeah, mostly.” 

            “He’s a flirt, I can tell, just like my oldest boy, Gene.  I’ll give him what for if he starts to wander.”  Nell brandishes her spoon, gesturing towards the kitchen where Dean’s starting to get the fryers ready.

            Sam looks at him, studying Dean’s profile for a moment and feeling his heart warm.  “I don’t think you have to worry, really.  We’ve been through a lot together and…”  Sam inhales slowly, flashes of John’s burning corpse and Dean lying dead in that hospital competing for which one will cause Sam’s resolve to crack first.  “And honestly nothing could break that.  Us, I mean.”  Sam can’t even remember the last time Dean went home with someone else, it’s been so long.

            Sam hasn’t said he really likes that, either.  Not when he’s afraid of what the consequences might be.

            Nell nods her head in understanding, cupping her chin with one hand.  “I understand.  Ah think you’ll be fine, seeing the way he looks at you.”  If Nell can see it, that underlying connection beyond the merely physical then Sam really shouldn’t worry, should he?

            Nell starts to turn away and start getting chairs down off of tables before she remembers something.  “By the way, where are you boys staying?”

            “We’ve been sleeping in the car.”  No need to lie about it, Sam decides.

            “Well now if you’re gonna be workin’ here we can’t have that.  Mind if ah show y’all something?”

            “No, of course not.”  Sam follows Nell through the kitchen, gesturing for Dean to follow.  Dean’s already in an apron, sweat starting to glisten on his neck and forehead from prepping.  Sam thinks he looks incredibly sexy like that, the amulet hanging heavy around his neck and his t-shirt sticking to his skin.  Dean waggles his eyebrows once when he sees Sam’s appraising look, falling in step behind him and squeezing Sam’s butt, Sam half-heartedly swatting him away.  Dean can’t help it, not when something that nice is put right in front of him and the temptation’s just too strong.

            And it’s not like Sam really minds, anyway.  He’s done more than his fair share of grabbing Dean’s ass at awkward moments, too.

            Nell takes them down a short hallway and opens a door, turning on the light and ushering Sam and Dean inside.  “It’s not exactly the Ritz but sometimes when I’m just too plum tired to get home I stay here.”  It’s a room furnished with a queen-sized bed and a sink, shower stall in one corner and a bureau on the wall opposite the door.  “Consider it yours until y’all save up enough to get a motel room.  Y’all don’t mind sharing such a small bed, do you?”

            “Hell no – makes it easier to roll over on him in the morning, right Sammy?”  Dean’s blatant lewdness is endearing – almost.

            Sam cuffs him on the arm and turns back to Nell.  “It’ll be fine, Nell.  Mind if we go get our stuff before business picks up?”

            “Not at all.  Just don’t take too long, alright?”  Nell exits, leaving Sam and Dean alone.

            Dean starts to leave too but Sam pauses him with a hand on his forearm.  “You got a minute?”

            “Sure, Sammy.  What’s up.”  Dean puts his hands on Sam’s hips and kisses his chest as he listens.

            “You’re okay with this, right?  I know it’s not exactly us but…”

            “Sammy, if we had another option I’d like to think we would have ceased that one by the balls by now.”  Dean steps back so he can look up at his brother, concern glowing in his jade irises.  “I don’t like it either but for now, I’ll suck it up.”

            Sam smiles thinly, nodding.  “And me, being out front, you know?  I don’t want you to worry about me or anything.”

            “Worry about what, Sammy? Worry about you running off with some chick for the night?  Sounds more like me than you.”

            Sam nuzzles Dean’s forehead as he speaks. “You want me to call you out when the really pretty ones show up?”

            Dean stops Sam and looks him dead in the eye.  “Why would I want you to do that?”

            “So you don’t have to go to bed with your little brother every night, is all.  I know I’m not-“

            Dean puts a finger on Sam’s lips before he can finish the thought, his tone dead serious.  “Sammy, I wouldn’t do that to you, not now.  I’d have thought that me spreading my legs for you on the regular several times a week would have made that clear.”

            Sam feels his cheeks heat slightly with shame.  “’M sorry, Dean.”

            Dean’s expression softens as he puts his lips right on Sam’s and murmurs “you’re the only one I want, Sam.  Sure there are lots of nice asses in the world but only one I want to squeeze every day.”  To emphasize his point, Dean slides his hands in Sam’s back pockets and leaves them there, fingers kneading the firm muscle of Sam’s backside through the denim.  “Not to mention it’s nice to hold onto when you’re plowing me like a cornfield.”

            Sam sighs, but doesn’t pull away.  “Every time I think you have a chance, you ruin it.”

            “It’s a compliment!”

            “How?”

            “Because your dick makes me forget my own name and pretty much everything else.  Can’t say that anyone else has been able to do that.”  Dean leads them towards the bed, Sam hesitating slightly because they really don’t have time for this but at the same time he remembers quite vividly that kiss from earlier and the fact that it wasn’t really resolved.  Clearly Dean does as well, if his wandering hands are anything to go by.

            “I’ll just take the compliment” Sam says and kisses Dean as they go down on the mattress, Dean spreading his legs for Sam to crawl between them and rubbing himself against Sam’s thigh, his head cradled in Sam’s hands as they play tonsil hockey for a long moment, Dean’s body humming with arousal for the third time in twenty four hours.

            Sam can feel his erection through his jeans, reaching down and rubbing it as he sucks on Dean’s jaw.  “Lay back,” Sam commands softly and Dean complies, Sam moving to kneel on the floor and unbuckling Dean’s jeans.  Dean watches with rapt attention as Sam unbuckles his pants and tugs them down, hooking his fingers in Dean’s underwear and pulling both garments down just to where they’re tucked under Dean’s balls.  Sam kisses across the lower half of Dean’s belly before ghosting a breath over his dick, the warm puff of air making Dean that much harder.  Sam looks up at him as he opens his mouth all the way and takes the head of Dean’s cock in his mouth, tonguing at his foreskin as it retracts, not stopping until he swallows Dean halfway down.

            Dean bites his lip to contain his sob of pleasure, toe-curlingly good as Sam starts to bob and up down right away, willing his throat open as he sucks, trying to be quiet but to little avail, slurping wetly at Dean’s dick as he tries to get him off as fast as possible.  Dean reaches up under his shirt with his right hand and pinches at his left nipple, tugging and teasing hard, rolling the skin between his fingers as his left hand comes to rest on the back of Sam’s head, buried in the soft strands of shaggy hair.  Sam’s got his own jeans unbuckled, hand right hand shoved down the front of his underwear as he strokes himself, his left jacking the bottom half of Dean’s shaft.  He can taste precome, heavy and salty and getting more and more copious with each passing second.  Sam keeps an ear out for Nell’s footsteps, as she’s sure to come looking for them soon enough.

            Dean tilts his head forward and looks down, seeing Sam’s mouth stuffed full of his dick and that’s all he needs, barely whispering a warning before he loses it, Sam tasting come shoot down the back of his throat as he finishes right with Dean, knowing he’s going to need to change his underwear, feeling it smear wetly against the left side where the head of his dick is pointed. 

            Worth it, Sam thinks.

            As soon as he finishes he pulls off of Dean wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and having Dean stand as he pulls his pants back up, kissing as they tuck each other away.

            “Ready to be working stiffs?,” Sam asks after another moment of quietly basking in afterglow.

            “Don’t think I’ll have to worry about that tonight, Sammy.”  Dean grins, kissing Sam again before Sam starts to head out the door.

            “Good point.  Better grab our stuff before she hits us with the spoon again.” 

            “Me, Sam, she hit me.”

            “We, me, whoever.  Still don’t want to chance it.”  They duck past Nell, on the phone with someone and talking up a storm.

            “Hey, I’ve got a bruise where she whacked me!”

            “I’ll kiss it better, later, I promise.”

            Dean’s going to hold Sam to it – he’d hate for Sam to not be a man of his word.

            Of course, Sam is most of the time regardless.


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been quite some time since they were last in South Carolina, and Sam in that period had forgotten about happy hour.

            The Shell Box opens its doors at four o’clock sharp, Sam having finally gotten everything ready that Nell had shown him.  In the back he can smell Dean already getting fries and wings ready, Nell splitting her time equally between helping in the kitchen and waitressing, Sam serving those at the bar not only drink but food as well, for those who choose to eat there and not at a table or booth.  The Shell Box is only one of a couple bars in town, so the choice of watering holes is slim.  Nell doesn’t mind, saying that it’s good for business even if the hours are long.  (Open until one am Monday through Thursday, until three on Fridays and Saturdays, and closed Sundays – Sam had found out for himself.)  The night part doesn’t bother him, having pulled more than his fair share of all-nighters in school and ten times as many hunts that started at dusk and didn’t finish until dawn.  Truthfully, when he and Dean aren’t on the job they actually go to bed fairly early, valuing rest when and where they can get it.  (Barring getting handsy with each other of course, and even then it always facilitates sleep much faster than going without.)

            The first group comes in all at the same time, about fifteen of them and every single one of them stops to look at Sam.

            “Well well well, looks like Nell hired her a pretty boy!”

            “Ain’t he tall though, just as big as Jeremy Kingston!”

            “Wonder where Nell found him…”

            “Any more like him at home?”

            And so on and so forth, Sam taking it all in stride – it’s not like he can easily hide from them, and he is very much a newcomer in town.  John had always drilled blending in, never sticking out if they didn’t have to – Sam can’t help but think about just how furious he would be now, seeing him and Dean stuck fast for the moment.  Sam’s also pretty sure he’d be furious anyway, seeing the way his boys live the way they do.  (Sam, if anything, always took a quiet amount of satisfaction in knowing that he and Dean got away with quite a lot right under his nose.) 

Word travels fast in small towns, as Sam’s found out over time, knowing that he and Dean may as well not try too hard to blend – barring being necessary covert when asked what exactly it is they do.  Of course, staying put for a while doesn’t mean they _can’t_ take care of any otherworldly business, even if Sam’s almost positive Laurens is the most stable town paranormally they’ve ever set foot in.

Nearly too stable, Sam muses.

“Another whiskey, please?”

Sam raises his head, having been wiping out a glass for the last two minutes.

“Pardon?”

“’Nother whiskey, if you please – and no ice this time, either.”  This comes from a rather grizzled gentleman, tobacco juice staining his white beard yellow and more wrinkles on his face than shovelfuls of dirt Sam’s dug from a grave. 

“Yes, sir.”  Sam pours him three generous fingers in his glass, trying to remain pleasant but his tone reminds him an awful lot of John’s – and that’s something that Sam can honestly say he doesn’t miss.

Nell swings by on her way back to the kitchen with an empty tray of beer bottles.  “Don’t pay that old codger no mind, Sam.  He’s just mad I let his good for nothing nephew go, is all.”  Sam watches the old man hobble away, the two glasses of whiskey already in him making him walk like his knees may give at any moment.

“Thanks, Nell.”  Sam turns to refill a glass of bourbon, a middle-aged blonde lady who wouldn’t look out of place in a lawyer or principal’s office offering him a red lipstick-edged smile.

“Thank you, young man.”  Sam’s sure that Dean, ever so poetic, would describe her as a MILF – and even Sam’s not sure he’d disagree.

“It’s Sam.”  The lady offers her hand, and Sam takes it.

“Jolene Mathers, pleasure to meet you Sam.  I’d ask if you were new here but that’d be a mighty silly question, now wouldn’t it?”  Jolene sips her bourbon, leaning forward so that Sam can have a peek down her silk blouse at her rather ample bosom, should he choose to do so.

“Yes, ma’am it would.”  Sam offers her a smile and looks away, still in his tank top and feeling rather exposed.  He’d tucked it into his jeans earlier, deciding that it’d look better with his apron on, pulling it even tighter over his muscles and he can feel Jolene stripping him with her eyes, the desire plainly obvious on her face.  Sam’s not ever been into older women, and doesn’t plan on starting now, no matter how hard Jolene’s trying.

Once again, Nell comes to his rescue, holding a tray of what Sam has to admit are absolutely delicious smelling wings, his stomach growling in sympathy.

“Put ‘em away, darling, Sam’s already spoken for.”  Nell gives her a scowl, Jolene’s piranha hungry look not fading in the least but she does lean back, draining her bourbon in one long gulp before she speaks again.

“By who?  I don’t see anyone around here claiming him.”  Jolene’s accent isn’t as strong as Nell’s, if anything tempered by either time away from town or self-trained to not sound so powerful.

“Order up, Sammy!” 

Sam turns a gloating look on Jolene.  “By him, actually.  Be right there, Dean!”  Sam makes sure no one’s asking for another drink right that second, and swings the door open and steps into the kitchen.

The sight that greets him is a wonder.

Dean’s got the place organized liked a battlefield, powdering bowls set out for frying wings, his fryers going full tilt to keep  up should they be needed, the griddle packed to the edges with burgers as they sizzle away – Sam’s a little awestruck, taking it all in before his eyes settle on Dean.  Dean himself is the cherry on this rather peculiar cake they’ve made for themselves, his sleeves rolled up and his biceps flexing as he checks, probes, and tastes, forehead glistening with sweat already and his t-shirt stuck fast to him like a second skin, making his shoulders look incredible and Sam wonders how much trouble he would be in if he ate Dean out over the bar right now.

It’ll give Jolene Mathers something to think about, anyway.

Dean spots him, bringing with him as he walks towards Sam a tray of wings and fries.  He gives Sam a very long once over as he hands it over, the temptation to pull Sam in for a kiss almost too strong to overpower, especially since there’s quite a bit of him on display and Dean knows quite well what lays underneath that black tank top.

“If you’re thirsty Dean, I’ll bring you something in a little bit.”  Sam’s not exactly being subtle about checking Dean out, either.

“What can I say, bartending looks good on you.  Mind if I come out in a little bit and list all my problems so that you can get me drunk and willing?”  Dean grins lewdly, doing his best to see Sam’s bulge.

“Yeah, but you have to pay double – oh, fuck it” and he leans down to give Dean a kiss, having seen the look in his eyes and he really hopes Jolene can see them right now, Dean’s lips parting to suck on Sam’s tongue, pulling away after ten very dizzying seconds and leaving both of them breathless.

“Good now?”  Sam asks, hoping he has the chance to do that again before too much longer.

“Full steam ahead, Sammy.”  Dean turns back to his kitchen, sauntering away so that Sam gets a good view of his ass, “yours for the taking” written in his hips and Sam finds himself getting hard again in spite of the three orgasms he’s had in the last twenty hours.

At least his libido’s still going strong, and that’s something to be thankful for, Sam supposes.  Not that it’s necessarily going to solve any of their current issues but it’s a bright spot nonetheless.  Well, _Dean_ would call it a bright spot.

Sam comes back out to find Jolene missing but there’s a ten dollar tip and her phone number waiting for him where she was sitting.  Sam throws away her number and pockets the money, turning to the next patron, going for the tequila and limes as he walks towards him.

Nell swings back through a while later, Sam holding the door open for her as she heads into the kitchen with an armful of dirty plates.

“Thank you, Sam.  You holding up alright out here?”

“Well, no one’s asked for a mixed drink yet…”  Sam shrugs, keeping the door open as he keeps talking to Nell.

“Ain’t no problem to make, really.  Only thing most folks ask for around here is a Jack and Coke but every now and then we get a Long Island Iced Tea or a margarita.  I’ll lend a hand if you need, it don’t you worry.”  Nell loads the dishwasher, shooing Sam back out behind the bar with her hand.  He hears Dean wolf whistle at him, Nell telling him to get back to work and the hiss and bubble of French fries hitting grease.

Already, Sam’s not feeling nearly as glum about their situation as he was this time yesterday.

            The crowd grows bigger as the evening wears on, Sam smiling, pouring, repeating, making what small talk he can, ignoring the sometimes more than friendly looks he keeps receiving. He does notice that almost everyone’s tipping him, men and women alike, normally with their eyes locked on his biceps as they slide him stacks of ones, fives, and even a couple tens.  Sam can play that game at least, especially since they desperately need the cash.  He flexes every now and then, reaching the longest way for the bottle as he can, letting everyone get their eyeful before he moves on.  He’s also had six phone numbers given to him, some with extra money attached for services he knows aren’t for just pouring drinks.

            It’s flattering in a way, and for a moment Sam wonders if this is what it’s like to be Dean, all of this blatantly obvious sexual desire being directed his way.       

            It also doesn’t matter anywhere near as much as the attention he gets from Dean, even if Sam smiles and accepts tips like it does.

            Towards the end of happy hour Sam’s stomach is growling louder than a werewolf, the lunch Nell had given he and Dean having long ago faded.  Right as he feels like passing out may be a suitable alternative to starving to death, Dean appears at his right side with a burger and fries, handing that and a cold from the back of the refrigerator beer to Sam.

            “Ready for a break, babe?”  Dean kisses Sam’s cheek right there in front of the patrons at the bar, some of them looking on with amusement, some with shock, most with curiosity.  Dean’s death glare and very loud “what, I can’t kiss my boyfriend in public?” making them all very, very suddenly interested in their drinks, Nell stepping in to man the bar while Sam and Dean sit down to eat.

            There’s a booth open near on the far wall away from the bar, the worn wooden seat the most comfortable thing Sam’s sure he’s ever placed himself in – and the burgers Dean’s made are _delicious._

“Holy shit,” Sam says around a mouthful of beef, “Dean these are incredible.”

            “The secret’s a little bourbon – makes ‘em just juicy enough to where they don’t slide from between the buns.”  Dean chows down gratefully, taking his left foot and rubbing it up and down the inside of Sam’s right calf.  The corners of Sam’s mouth turn up at the gesture, sliding a little closer to Dean so he doesn’t have to stretch his leg quite as far.

            They eat in silence for a while, Sam eating his entire burger and licking his fingers when he’s done.  Dean feels arousal pull hot in his gut, especially once Sam figures out what Dean’s looking at and starts to get more than a little obscene with it.  Without so much as batting an eye Sam takes Dean’s left hand in his own, looking Dean dead in the eye as he takes his index finger in and sucks all the way down to the webbing.  Sam makes a show of swirling his tongue around and around, cleaning every drop of juice from Dean’s finger before moving onto the next, Dean not even noticing his burger falling apart in his right hand.  Sam takes an extra long time on Dean’s ring finger, tracing a slow circle around where Dean’s silver ring normally rests.  Dean doesn’t move the whole time, his dick hard as a rock in his jeans by the time Sam finishes.

            If Dean wasn’t going to let Sam him before, he’s definitely getting him now.

            Sam sits back when he’s finished, lips shiny with spit and burger juice, Dean fixated on them as Sam stretches his arms upwards and rests his hands behind his head, biceps and armpits and basically all the other above the waist bits that drive Dean crazy on display.

            “You alright, Dean?”  Sam gives him a smug grin, knowing exactly what it was that he’s done to his brother and feeling extremely proud of himself – and hoping that Jolene’s still in the building because her witnessing that would be just _priceless._

“I hate you.”  Dean doesn’t mean it but now he’s got Sam’s mouth and tongue and everything else scrambling his brain.  It’s frustrating to the point of where he’s likely going to be hard until closing.  “And since when are you all about dick metaphors in public?”

            “Ever since Jolene Mathers tried to eye fuck me.”  Sam takes a long pull of his beer and tilts his head back so that Dean can watch his throat bob as he drinks.

            Dean makes a game try at words but Sam’s neck is extremely distracting.  “Who… who’s Jolene Mathers?”

            Sam looks around and sees Jolene back at the bar, pretending to not be watching them out of the corner of her eye.  “Her.”

            Dean can see her better than Sam and when he spots her his jaw drops a little.  “Dude, total MILF. Probably knows all the filthy positions and then some.  What do you say Sam, should we put her in a Winchester sandwich?”  Dean’s face lights up like a Christmas tree and Sam sighs.

            “As tempting as that sounds Dean but I’d rather not give her the pleasure.”  Jolene looks back at Sam, smiling at him again in spite of the fact that Sam’s done his absolute best to show he’s not interested.

            “Aw, she likes you.”  Dean winks at her and her expression turns icy.  “And just you, it seems.”

            “Maybe we can invite her over to watch you get plowed,” Sam says, using Dean’s own term.  “Think she’d be satisfied with that?”

            “I don’t know Sam, it looks like she wants the full treatment.  I mean I know I get it bad sometimes but Sam, she’s probably left a puddle on the barstool.”

            Sam furrows his brow and frowns.  “That’s gross, Dean.”

            “Just sayin.’”  Dean starts to get up, his boner having gone down from throbbing to concealable, Sam standing with him and before Dean can get too far Sam puts his hands on Dean’s hips and pulls him back, arms going around Dean’s body as he kisses Dean’s neck.

            “Wouldn’t even give her a second thought, and you know it.  Not when I know how fucking _beautiful_ you look when you come with my dick up your ass.”  Sam growls as he bite Dean’s earlobe, nearly making Dean drop their plates.

            “Point taken Sammy, no MILFs for you.”  Dean’s voice sounds a little squeaky, like Sam’s suddenly taken away his ability to talk properly.  Perhaps this is what literal breathtaking is like, Dean considers.  He’s not exactly broken up about it though, not with Sam pressed all up close and personal.

            “No, just Deans.”  Sam kisses him again and lets him go, half the room having been watching and not taking their eyes off of them until Dean’s back in the kitchen and Sam’s taken Nell’s place at the bar.

            “Mighty brave, you boys flaunting it like that.”  Nell’s taking empty glasses up and wiping away the moisture rings where they sat.

            Sam shrugs.  “If anyone has a problem with it, Dean and I are more than capable of fending off any potential trouble.  Wouldn’t be the first time it happened.”  Sam reassures himself with the fact he has a rather fierce knife tucked against his right calf and that he is more than capable of drawing it quickly, should the need arise.

            “Just be careful, Sam.  Some folks around here aren’t exactly of the acceptin’ sort, if you know what I mean.  I’d hate for them to mess you or Dean’s purdy faces up.”  Nell pats his arm and heads into the kitchen, Sam mulling over her words as he starts pouring another round of shots for table four.  He thinks about the three times they’ve gotten handsy in public and paid the price for doing so – one of those times involved Sam nearly losing a finger, after a very close knife fight after he had grabbed Dean’s ass in front of a bunch of truckers.  (To be fair, Dean’s ass _had_ looked super tempting that day.)  Sam shudders, the memory running as cold as ice through his veins, having very nearly been caught by the police – that would have involved John knowing, and John being in on he and Dean’s secret was fear number on Sam’s list of things that absolutely scared the piss out of him.

            His flaunting what he and Dean have?  Sam knows it’s the taste of freedom, John unable to see or know about them now.  It makes guilt pool ugly and burning in his gut but he can’t deny that’s what it is – that he and Dean are free to do as they please now.

            Of course, he’s not going to tell Dean that, especially since there’s a very good chance that Dean’s already figured his game out.  After all, Dean’s spent a long, long time now figuring out how he ticks along.  They’re each other’s first second language, learned from the cradle, as it were. 

            Nell comes back out and sees Sam standing there looking melancholy.  “Why the long face babydoll, business is a boomin’ this evenin!”

            Sam smiles at her and turns to refill someone’s water.  “I’m fine, Nell.  Just thinking about what Dean and I had to get through to be here.”

            “Ah understand, really.  Life’s tough road, and all that.”  Nell flits away (as much as a lady of her size can, anyway) and leaves Sam to contemplate, his thoughts drifting to the back of his mind as he pulls the tap for more Michelob, focusing on work and the smell of booze and Dean’s ass.

            Those at least, he decides, are safe.

___

            “Think I’m gonna head home boys.  Can y’all lock the front door for me?”  Nell’s tottering a bit, her feet aching and her back sore. For a weeknight it had been exceptionally busy and Nell’s feeling it more and more with each passing second.

            Sam looks up from where he and Dean are counting the evening’s takings.  “Sure thing, Nell. Go and get some rest, Dean and I can handle finishing up.”  Sam had been helping wipe tables before he’d sat down to assist Dean in finishing up the tallying.

            “Alright.  Now remember, tips are split evenly, so no shortchanging each other – I already took my share out, so don’t worry about me.  Y’all did good for your first time, and I’m awful pleased to have y’all here.  Sleep tight, boys.”  Nell wanders out, leaving Sam and Dean with nothing but the sound of the air conditioning ticking away and each other’s breathing.  Dean looks up at Sam with a grin, having finished counting.

            “Six thousand five hundred and thirty three dollars Sammy, after tips.”  Dean holds up his math, Sam having been double counting behind him.

            “How much in tips?”

            “Almost four hundred, so split two ways that’s….

            “About a hundred and ninety six dollars apiece.”  Sam returns Dean’s beaming smile, tucking the cash away in his pocket, Dean doing the same and getting up to come over to Sam’s side of the table.

            “Wonder what made us all those tips?,” Dean says as he sits in Sam’s lap, kissing up the side of Sam’s neck and making Sam shiver as his stubble scrapes over his skin.

            “Burgers maybe?  I can’t say for the wings, didn’t get to try ‘em.”  Sam tilts his head back, gasping when Dean’s right hand snakes under his tank top and teases his right nipple.

            “Probably you, giving everyone a front row seat to the gun show.  Can’t say I’m complaining, either.”  Dean sucks Sam’s earlobe between his teeth, making Sam squirm.

            “Maybe tomorrow I should tend bar naked.  Hell we may be able to walk out of here with our pockets full and get back on the road.”  Sam’s really getting into Dean fellating his ear and is rather disappointed when Dean stops.

            “Think we should stick with it for just a couple weeks, at least.  That way we won’t have to do this again for a while, you know?”  It’s Dean’s way of saying now is not the time to discuss this, and Sam takes the hint.

            “Yeah.”  Sam pushes his thoughts away for the millionth time that night, instead settling on occupying his time with kissing Dean.  Dean doesn’t have any objections, pulling himself up a little straighter as Sam uses his right hand to cup his cheek and hold him steady, his left arm curled around Dean’s waist.  Dean smells like grease and sweat and the faintest trace of Irish Spring, their dip in the lake having faded long ago.  Sam’s sure he’s just as fragrant, but Dean certainly doesn’t seem to mind, mouth already open and guiding the hand Sam has on his face down to the crotch of his jeans.

            Dean breaks the kiss just long enough to say “there’s a bed and a shower back there and Sammy, I want you to fuck me.  Don’t care if you fall asleep in the middle of it but fuck baby, been wantin’ you bad since you sucked on my fingers earlier.”  Dean’s voice is all husky and dark, thicker than the humid air outside and Sam’s just drowned completely in it.

            “Think I can do that for you, babe.”  Sam sucks on Dean’s tongue and bottom lip for another moment before he stands, lifting Dean and carrying him over to the bar, leaving him on a barstool.  “But I gotta lock up first.”

            “I’ll be right here when you get back.”  Dean pulls Sam in for another kiss, dangerously hot and every time Sam starts to pull away he falters, kissing Dean until his lips are sore.  With a reluctant groan he beats it to the front door, turning the locks and when he turns around, Dean’s got his cock out, stroking slowly like he had been in the car earlier that day.

            “Couldn’t help myself.”  Dean’s got this sort of hazy, too tired to care expression on his face, his rhythm on his own dick loose and slow.  He’s got his gaze fixed on Sam, watching his brother saunter towards him as Sam untucks his shirt, flashing his abs and chest at the same time.

“Won’t hear any complaints from me, I promise.”  Sam leans down and gives him another dizzying kiss, bracketing Dean in by putting his hands on either side of the bar.  Dean stops jacking himself for a moment to reach for the buckle of Sam’s belt, getting it undone when all of a sudden he finds himself in the air, taken by surprise when Sam lifts him and holds him up, one arm under his shoulders and the other under his ass.                          Sam’s got Dean positioned so that Dean’s dick is right in his face, bending his neck and taking the head in his mouth – Dean up to this point didn’t even know that this was something he wanted but hell if he’s very much into it, held up by nothing but his little brother’s beefy arms as he gets his cock sucked.  Sam goes at it like a champ too, hair falling over his forehead as be bobs up and down, taking as much of Dean’s cock as he can from the angle he’s put himself in.

            “Sam, Sammy, babe, fuck, gotta… _fuck,_ gotta stop.” Dean doesn’t want to come yet, and Sam’s doing an awfully good job of getting him there; as hot as this is to watch he wants Sam’s cock in him just that much more.

            Sam pulls off of him, lips shiny with spit and precome.  “Sorry Dean, couldn’t help myself.”  Sam gives him as lascivious a look as Dean’s ever seen from him, sucks on his cock for another second, and then carries him to the back.  It’s not an easy thing to do, seeing as how Dean’s not exactly light and Sam’s cock is doing its best to burst through his jeans.  He does an alright job of not banging Dean into the wall as they head to the back, the door having been left open and Sam dumps Dean onto the bed, coming down hard on top of him. The tenuous grip Dean had on his self-control is gone at this point, wrapping his arms and legs around Sam like a vine.  Sam ruts against Dean’s hips, Dean’s dick still out and when Sam rubs his jeans against him Dean nearly comes again.

            When Dean groans in such a way that Sam reads as too much, he pulls back.  “Need to slow down?”

            “Yeah.”  Dean peels off his t-shirt while Sam takes down his pants, leaving him naked. “And I’d like to not smell like meat, too.  Shower?” 

            “Agreed.”  Sam kisses Dean again anyway, jumping up off the bed and stripping.  Dean drools a little at the site of finally naked Sam, big dick hanging heavy between his legs, foreskin pulled back of its own accord and the head shiny with precome.  Dean sits up as Sam finishes pulling off his socks, catching Sam unaware and licking his cock, taking the bottom half in hand as he sucks at the head.

            The noise Dean pulls out of Sam is positively glorious, Dean opting after a moment to go handsfree and pulling Sam closer by placing his hands on his ass, opening his mouth wider as more of Sam’s cock fills it.  Sam grips Dean’s shoulder and the back of his head, mouth falling open as he lets out a breathy “fuck,”  Dean’s tongue under his foreskin and tracing agonizingly slow circles around the head, alternating between that and gently biting it, sucking the loose skin between his lips and nipping just hard enough to make electricity crackle up Sam’s spine.

            “Dean, if you want…”  Sam can’t even make the words come out properly, Dean’s tongue having shut down the critical thinking parts of his brain. 

            Dean pulls off of him just long enough to ask “want what?” before resuming tonguing at Sam’s frenulum.

            “If you want me to fuck you, you have to stop _right now_ because baby if you don’t…”  Sam doesn’t know when he got to the point of pleading but that’s exactly what it sounds like he’s doing.

            “Just getting your dick wet for me, Sammy.”  Dean stands up, kissing Sam’s chin and jaw as he talks.  “Think that just because I’ve come so much in the last day I don’t want to taste you?”  Dean kisses Sam on the mouth and runs his fingers through Sam’s hair.  “Don’t ever think I ever stop wanting you.”

            “Never doubted it, Dean.”  Sam kisses him back and starts to pull Dean backwards towards the shower, careful to avoid tripping over their shoes.  They manage to make the short trip without incident, only to discover a problem.

            “There’s no way we’re both gonna fit in there.”  Dean looks around Sam, the stall just big enough for one person and even then it’s a tight fit.

            “Are you serious?”  Sam turns around and sadly, Dean’s words are true.

            “You go first Sammy – I’ll be in there longer anyway.  Prep and all that, and who knows how big Nell’s hot water tank is.”  Dean kisses him and gently pushes Sam back into the stall.  “Soap’s already in there too.”

            “When did you…”

            “Earlier.  Nell manned the kitchen for a few minutes while I snuck back here and unpacked some, seeing as how we’d probably be too tired to do it after our shift.”  Dean congratulates himself for thinking ahead, taking a moment to perv on Sam while he does.  “Figured we may as well try to be civilized while we’re here.”

            “ _I_ am civilized – you’re not.”  And with that, Sam closes the door.  The water’s just the right side of scalding without Sam having to do much tampering, and the pressure is stupendous.  He just stands there for a long moment, letting it beat the ache from his muscles.  He hears Dean leave the room, humming to himself.  There’s a bathroom right outside their room, and Sam guesses that’s where Dean’s gone when he hears a door close just a couple seconds later.

            Sam washes quickly, scrubbing hard to clean the smell of just about every beer and liquor from his skin.  It’s not the worst thing in the world, having been covered in ectoplasm and werewolf innards and plenty of other gross crap to warrant considering the scent of booze to be a blessing.  All the same, he doesn’t want to smell like a distillery, even if he does have a thing for Dean’s whiskey lips after they’ve been sharing a bottle of Jack back and forth.

            Leaving his hair for the next day, Sam rinses off and steps out, his towel hanging on the rack just outside the door, most likely courtesy of Dean.  Dean’s back now, laying on the bed, naked as can be, sipping a beer.

            “That’s probably gonna come out our pay, you know.”  Sam raises one leg to wipe down the back, Dean not looking up from the worn copy of _Cat’s Cradle_ he’s reading.

            “Figured we could spare it.  Got you one too.”  Dean gestures to the nightstand, a cold Sierra Nevada collecting condensation next to where Dean’s laid their wallets.

            “Thanks.”  Sam hangs up his towel and goes back over to the bed, grabbing the beer and twisting off the cap, straddling Dean’s thighs and leaning down after taking a sip.  Dean moves the book aside in favor of Sam kissing his chest, setting it down to scritch the back of Sam’s head.

            “You look like a puppy right now, Sammy.”  Dean kisses Sam’s nose as soon as it’s close enough, Sam wrinkling it in reflex.

            “Shut up, I’m trying to be sexy.”  Sam meanders up towards Dean’s face, unable to resist licking a wet trail up the side of Dean’s neck up to his jaw.

            “Dude, what-“

            “Just let me, alright?”  Dean tastes salty and smoky and _good_ ; Sam’s being honest with himself, seeing Dean in that kitchen and marshaling his forces like a general had turned him on way more than he thought it would and he just hopes that Dean’s not caught onto that’s why Sam’s licking him like a popsicle yet – that or he thinks Sam’s just tired and hazy with lust like he is and this is just how it’s manifesting itself at the moment.

            “Sam, come on, lemme up.”  Dean pushes him off, making Sam slosh his beer that he’s still holding all over his hand.

            “Sorry Dean, just…”

            “What?”

            Sam closes his eyes and exhales.  “I liked seeing you.  In the kitchen.  It’s almost like… I don’t know, we were normal. Or something.”  Sam feels his cheeks warm with embarrassment but he’s positive Dean would have figured it out at some point anyway.

            “What do you mean, normal?”

            “You know, like… settled.”

            “This isn’t some sort of weird fetish where you want to play house, is it?”  Dean sits back and regards Sam with a sort of amused look.

            “No, not like that.  I don’t know Dean, just go shower.”  Sam feels ashamed for having said it now, turning away so that Dean doesn’t see him flush even redder.

            “Alright, Sam, but if you want to-“

            “Later, Dean.  Or never.”  Sam doesn’t want to talk about it, not when they’re in a really good spot in their relationship for what’s been an unprecedented month without having a fallout of some sort.

            Dean carries a whole bunch of concern with him as he heads to the shower, enema tube wrapped in his towel.  Sam’s normally not the one to clam up like when things get serious, always pressuring Dean to talk.  It’s normal for Dean to do it, but Sam?  Yeah, Dean worries.  A lot.

            While Dean’s in the shower Sam gets out his laptop and shoots off a quick email to Bobby relaying their current situation and that he’ll call him should anything arise that may require his help.  Bobby’s likely asleep by now so he doesn’t wait for a reply, checking the local news for anything weird that might fall under their wheelhouse and finding nothing within the last eighteen hours closes his computer and reaches for his beer, finishing it off and doing his best to look seductive for when Dean gets out of the shower.

            By the time Dean gets out, Sam’s half-dozing and soft again, his empty beer bottle cupped loosely in his left hand.  Dean sees Sam with his eyes closed and walks over to the bed quietly, slightly damp and feeling a lot less like a grease trap then before.  He takes the bottle and sets it aside, nudging Sam over so that he can tuck himself up under Sam’s arm.

            “Sammy, Sammy hey – we had plans, remember?”  Dean’s stretched and ready to go, all Sam has to do is lube up and slide in.

            Sam opens his eyes, Dean’s rosy-cheeked visage right there in front of him. “Hey.”  He rubs his eyes and sits up more, Dean going with him.

            “You still up for the horizontal hokey pokey or what because if you want to just lay back and let me ride you…”

            Sam chuckles and pulls Dean into his lap.  “No, I’m good.”  He kisses Dean as he tips them over, Dean flat on his back under Sam and making himself at home there.

            “Lube?”  Sam asks after a few minutes of Frenching Dean lazily.

            “Under the pillow, just like always.”  Dean sticks a foot under the pillow to the left, dragging it out with his toes and Sam takes it once it’s within reach.  He pours some out onto his fingers, getting Dean wet first, listening to his breath hitch as he slides three fingers right in, making sure Dean’s ready and crooking them once or twice against his prostate just to watch his back arch.

            “Sammy, quit fucking around and fuck me.  I told you I was good to go, so let’s fucking go.”

            “No you didn’t.”  Sam teases Dean’s sweet spot with his index finger, making Dean gasp.

            “Well I meant to.”  The words come out strangled, like Dean’s capacity for breathing has been cut off by Sam’s fingers in his ass.

            “Bossy.”  Sam drops a kiss to Dean’s shoulder and gets on his knees, tucking the pillows under Dean’s hips so that he can line up better.  “But then again I’d worry if you weren’t.”

            “I’m gonna hold you down and take care of it myself if you don’t get in me within the next second.”  Dean’s starting to feel like he was born ready and Sam’s just drawing it out to tease him, the bastard.

            Right as Dean’s bracing himself for Sam’s dick, Sam stops and Dean thinks he may actually commit fratricide.  “Now what?”

            “This isn’t some motel bed we can ruin, Dean.  Do we have any condoms left?” 

            Dean can’t help the look of incredulity that mottles the features of his face. “I don’t know, Sam, I don’t use them.”  It’s true – Dean bottoms most of the time and when he does top every once in a while he doesn’t see the need for one.

            “Well I don’t want to leave evidence all over Nell’s sheets, is all.  I mean she’s letting stay here rent free, pretty much.”  Sam gets up and goes over to his bag, Dean sitting up on his elbows to watch him.

            “Congratulations Sam, you win the Clean Sheets and Concerned Top of The Year Award.  Your reputation as a model citizen is secure and there’s less death in the world but Sam, _your dick still isn’t in my ass._ ”  Dean’s about to start pouting if it means it’ll get Sam inside him that much quicker.

            Sam tosses the box of Trojan Magnums in Dean’s general direction and ends up hitting him in the head with it.  “One left.  You want to put it on, or watch me?”

            Dean forgets about his grousing when Sam makes the offer.  “Um, you do it.  I might rip your dick off since you clearly want to keep it all to yourself.”  Dean doesn’t look away as Sam unwraps the condom and pulls it on slowly, his brain melting a little further when he sees just how tightly Sam’s dick is encased inside it.  Dean still thinks that Sam could have a viable career as a porn star, with those dimples and that cock just begging for the world to see.  The trouble is that Dean doesn’t like sharing and Sam’s monogamous to a fault, not counting the handful of one night only threesomes they’ve had in the past.  Still if it would bring in cash…

            “Then what would you do with the rest of me?”  Sam’s repositioned himself back in between Dean’s legs, holding them apart as he lines himself up.

            “Sell you as a eunuch to some rich sheik to protect his harem.  Those guys are loaded, you know.”  Dean shuts his eyes, wincing as Sam starts to enter him, Sam giving him the benefit of going in all at once so that he doesn’t have to adjust as slowly.

            Once Sam’s bottomed out inside him, he leans down and takes both of Dean’s hands in his and links their fingers above Dean’s head.  “It’s more fun to tease you though.”  Sam kisses him as he starts to thrust, slow and lazy.  There’s no rush or desperation now, both slightly buzzed from the beer and sleepiness.  Dean moans softly every time Sam’s hips connect with his body, angled just right to where Sam’s hitting his prostate on every thrust. 

            Sam buries his face in Dean’s neck and starts to move a little faster, hearing Dean’s watch chime two behind him.  “Sorry about earlier,” Sam says, feeling his orgasm start to build low in his gut and warm him from the inside out.

            “No worries Sammy, just keep doin’ what you’re doin.’”  Dean lets go of Sam’s left hand and starts to jerk himself off, his cock sticky against his belly where he’s been leaking precome for the last ten minutes.

            “God, fucking gonna come soon, Dean, fuck.”  Sam can feel the slow burn getting hotter and hotter, Dean gripping his other hand tight.

            “Me too, Sammy, come on, together, let’s fucking come _fuck_!”  Dean comes when Sam fucks in hard once, twice, three times, biting into Dean’s shoulder as he follows a split second behind Dean, Dean coming nearly dry but the sensation itself is incredible, his overtaxed body finally giving up and as soon as he finishes his eyes slam shut, Sam collapsing on top of him and still inside.

            It’s only when Dean’s legs start to hurt from staying spread that he tries to move Sam.  “Sammy, get off.”

            Sam grunts.

            “Sam, come on, you’re heavy.”

            “Comfy.”

            Dean takes manners into his own hands and slides out from underneath him, wincing as Sam’s semi-hard and blood heavy cock slides out of him, the condom being pulled off in the process.

“Doesn’t look like we really needed this after all.”

  There’s not much come inside it at all, just a few drops collected inside the reservoir, and honestly Dean’s a little surprised; Sam almost always comes a lot, no matter how many times he’s came that day.  With shrug, Dean ties it off and tosses it at the trashcan near the shower.  Sam faceplants into the mattress, Dean moving around so that he’s not being pushed off the bed.

            “Come on Sam, brush your teeth. Ain’t gonna wake up to your morning breath again.”

            Sam picks his head up and looks at Dean.  “Since when have you cared?”

            “It’s the principle of the thing.  And because we don’t have dental insurance.”

            Sam reluctantly pulls himself into a sitting position.  “You pick the oddest fucking things to worry over.”

            “It’s my job, Sam.”  It always has been, even though Sam’s been perfectly capable of caring for himself for years and years now.

            “I know.”  Sam gets up and follows Dean to the sink, taking up his toothbrush and kissing Dean’s temple before he starts brushing. “And I’m glad for it.”

            Dean squirms when Sam tries to put an arm around him.  “Alright, alright, get off.”

            “Already did.”

            Dean elbows him Sam in the ribs and ends up getting jabbed back twice as hard.

            Sam makes up for it by spooning him as they fall asleep.

___

            Sam doesn’t even hear his alarm go off.

            Normally it’s set for eight a.m., earlier if they need to be up sooner depending on the job but he and Dean both snore right through it, Sam not even aware it’s chiming away until he rolls over sometime a little before noon.  His phone is almost dead from having rang for nearly four hours, blindly pressing buttons until it stops making noise.  With a groan he flops back down to the bed, Dean snuggled up against him with his arms wrapped around Sam’s neck and shoulders.  Sam tilts his head forward and plants a kiss on the crown of Dean’s head, combing his fingers through Dean’s soft, short hair.

            Dean stirs after a few minutes and kisses Sam’s chest where he’s got his head pillowed.  “Everything still here?”

            “Think so.”  Sam yawns and tries to sit up, taking Dean with him.  He looks over at his watch and notices the time, blinking a few times to make sure he’s reading it correctly.

            “Holy crap, Dean, it’s almost noon.”  Sam wriggles out from Dean’s embrace, causing Dean to grumble.

            “Come back here, I wasn’t done with you yet.”  Dean dangles one arm over the edge of the bed, nose buried in the mattress and looking up at Sam with a scowl.  “Seriously, where do we have to be right now?”

            Sam keeps digging around in his duffle for clean underwear as he answers. “Uh, work?  Remember?”

            Dean gets up and walks over to where Sam’s standing and places his hands on his shoulders.  “Sam, we’re at work.  Right through that door.”  Dean points in the general direction of the bar.

            Sam laughs, shaking his head.  “It’s official, I’m going crazy.”

            “What made you think we weren’t in a motel?”

            “No mysterious stains in the blankets, the wallpaper isn’t horrid, the bed was actually comfortable.”

            “And small.”  Dean’s already decided that they can’t stay here too long on account of the mattress not exactly fitting both of them.

            “Yeah, that too.”  Sam rests his forehead against Dean’s, stepping close so that his naked body is right up against his.  “Good morning.”

            “Mornin, Sammy.”  Dean leans up for a kiss, Sam giving one willingly as he embraces Dean.  It’s a long, slow, wake your brain up sort of kiss, neither pulling away until they feel themselves getting dizzy.

            “Wanna fuck before we get started?”

            Sam looks at him like he’s just grown a third eye in the middle of his head.  “No, I want breakfast.”

            “After that, then.”  That’s what Sam meant, right?

            Sam lets Dean go and resumes digging in his bag.  “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

            “Technically you just did.”

            Sam throws his deodorant and hopes it hits Dean somewhere sensitive.

___

            “Well don’t you two look a sight better?”  Nell greets them as they emerge from the back of the kitchen, both freshly shaven and dressed, Sam back in his normal plaid and Dean sporting his AC/DC shirt.

            “Yeah, thanks for the bed.  Little small but it’ll do until we get something a little more permanent.”  Sam looks at Dean for any sort of reaction to the word “permanent” but Dean acts like he didn’t even hear him.

            “Any good breakfast joints around here Nell?”  Dean had decided while they were dressing that food would indeed have to take priority over sex for right now.

            “Just down the road a piece – Cornelia’s Kitchen, serves breakfast from mornin’ til night.  Best eggs and grits you’ll ever eat.  Just tell ‘em Nell sent you – and when you get back, I need to talk to you boys ‘bout a couple business things.”  Nell bustles away, leaving Sam and Dean to ponder over what exactly that might mean.

            Seeing as how it’s another sweltering day in western South Carolina they opt to drive, wallets bulging with cash, intent on filling up the Impala and buying a few other essentials while they’re out.

            “I don’t like that term, ‘business things.  Means that we’re gonna have to get creative about our past.  Think we could pull ourselves off as landlocked pirates?  Unemployed superheroes?”  Dean eases them out onto the road, just a couple cars on it with them.

            “We can’t tell her we’re brothers, for one thing.”  Sam says it quietly, knowing that even someone as tolerant as Nell wouldn’t quite understand.

            “Hey, that’s alright though.  Nobody’s business but ours, Sammy.”  Dean reaches over and grabs Sam’s forearm, squeezing it for a moment before letting it go.

            “But we have to tell her something, Dean.  You know she’s gonna want a last name and probably run a background check.  It’s her job to do that, Dean.  Would you want a couple of near strangers working for you and not know anything about them?  We can only get by for so long on smiles and pretending to know what we’re doing.”

            “Hey, I _do_ know what I’m doing.”  Dean looks mildly offended that Sam would dare assume he didn’t know his way around a griddle.

            “My point being that we can only fabricate so much.  I know we won’t be here forever but we can’t fool her for too much longer.  It’s not like Bobby knows the whole picture either and we can’t give her too many numbers to call if she asks for more references.”  Sam goes quiet as they pull up to the restaurant, Dean tight lipped as well, considering Sam’s words carefully.  Sam raises a lot of really good points and honestly this is why Dean’s not super keen on taking regular, working stiff jobs – even if the money is guaranteed and they won’t have to risk death via hustling or card sharking or any other number of sneaky ways of gaining funds.

            Dean parks them right out in front of Cornelia’s Kitchen and once the car’s shut off, turns to Sam.  “Why don’t we pick this over more with coffee and eggs?”

            Sam gives Dean a small smile.  “Alright.”

            Cornelia’s Kitchen is crowded and as is inevitable, they draw quite a lot of attention once inside.  Sam notices several patrons here from the bar the night before, including Jolene Mathers, looking no less seductive now than she did before, eying them over her cup of coffee.  Dean steps in front of Sam protectively once he sees Jolene eying Sam like a piece of meat, Jolene’s face belying amusement instead of offense.

            A woman who could be Nell’s sister steps up to them and shakes their hands, two menus tucked under her other arm.  “Welcome to Cornelia’s Kitchen boys.  Would y’all prefer to dine in or on the veranda?”

            Sam and Dean exchange a look before Dean proclaims “inside is fine – and Nell sent us, if that means anything.”

            “You’re Sam and Dean!  Well follow me, ah got a nice spot right here towards the back for you boys.”  They follow Cornelia’s ample form through the restaurant, Sam nodding in acknowledgement to those he remembers from the night before, Dean singularly focused on sitting down and eating a proper, Southern cooked breakfast.

            “Nell had called me this morning to let me know she was sendin’ y’all over, so if ah may take the liberty of preparing the special for you fine gentleman, I’d be most willin’ to do so.” Cornelia fans herself with the menus gently, waiting for their answer.

            Dean puts on his best charming smile and replies “I think we’d be more than okay with that – and a pot of coffee, too.  Orange juice, Sammy?”

            Sam looks up at Cornelia with sincere warmth, making Cornelia smile back at him.  “Please.”

            “I’ll be right out with your coffee.  You boys just sit tight now, you here?”  Cornelia leaves them, and Sam leans forward so that only Dean can hear him.

            “You getting the feeling that something’s off about this town?  Normally folks don’t exactly roll out the red carpet for us like this.”

            Dean spreads his hands in a gesture of suggestion.  “I wouldn’t be so quick to look for demons and shit, Sam.  Ever think it’s that it’s all just due to good old fashioned Southern hospitality?”

            “Yeah, and half of these people watched me suck on your fingers last night like it was your dick, Dean.”

            Instead of offering helpful input, Dean just smirks to himself at the memory.

            “Dean.”

            “Sorry, Sam, my mind was wondering.”  Cornelia comes back with their coffee, pouring both cups to the brim and leaving them a heap of cream and sugar before bustling away again.

            “I’m gonna keep an eye out anyway.  Never hurts to be careful, even if we’re sticking around for a bit.”

            Dean sips his coffee for a moment before speaking again.  “How long exactly is ‘a bit,’ anyway?”

            “Two weeks?  Three?  Long enough, right?  And we have to get a motel at some point, too.”  Sam would suggest staying longer but he can already see the clouds of doubt troubling Dean’s features.

            “I mean, that’s enough with tips and a couple paychecks to get us what, at least a couple grand?”  Sam figures that the weekends will bring in more and also factors out their averages for expenses.

            “Yeah, but how long will that last us, Sammy?  Not like the car sucks gas cheap and motels aren’t free.”

            Sam almost pinches himself in disbelief because that’s not exactly like Dean, to suggest staying rooted for any longer than they have to – all the same Sam doesn’t respond to the question directly.  “No, they aren’t.”  Sam picks up his coffee and right before it gets to his lips he says “It’s not like we have anyone to answer to anymore, Dean.”

            There it is.

            “Sam…”

            “Dean, look – we don’t have to abide by his rules or code anymore.  We’re…”  Sam considers his words carefully before resuming.  “We’re us.  We’re not him, and I miss him but Dean, he can’t give directives anymore.”

            “Shut up.”  Dean’s voice is deadly quiet and Sam feels himself reel from his tone.

            “Dean-“

            “Button it.  We have a mission, Sam, and I’m not gonna give up on that.”  Dean’s gone from aggravated straight to pissed and Sam chides himself for assuming Dean was ready to have this conversation.

            Cornelia brings out their food and immediately senses the dark mood at one of her best tables.  “Now, ah hate to pry but whatever it is that’s got y’all looking so down all of sudden hopefully won’t last too long, seeing as how your breakfast is ready.  Now cheer on up and chow down, fellas.” Cornelia sets down their plates and leaves them, keeping a weather eye on them as she moves around the restaurant.

            Sam starts eating without looking back up at Dean, considering it a small victory that Dean opted to stay and eat rather than storm out.  Sam also feels a little guilty for not giving more heed to Dean’s anger but holy shit, Nell was right – the grits and eggs are wonderful, the bacon just right and the more of the coffee he drinks the more he wants, not too strong and not too week.  Sam looks around for some sort of good luck or fortune symbol but sees none, simply because breakfast food this good doesn’t exist. 

            There’s a tacit agreement between them to both get up to pay when they’re finished but Dean beats Sam to it, jumping in front of Sam and still wearing the same dark expression as he kept while they ate.  Sam knows it’ll wear off eventually but all the same he hates to see that, especially after seeing Dean look so happy and carefree yesterday. 

            They ride in brooding silence to the gas station, Sam staying in the car with the window rolled down while Dean fills up.  He’s lost count of how many times they’ve been in this situation, a brief pause in the hustle and bustle of their mercurial lifestyle.  For a while Sam kept count of how many stations they stopped at, if they had been there before, how many times in a month – eventually he’d lost track, lost in the blur of crisscrossing the United States and roads and a never-ending stream of roadside diners, truck stops, Dean saying he’d be back in the morning, just have to help Dad with something, “protect your brother, Dean” and then kisses they shouldn’t have stolen from each other, falling hard and fast for each other when Sam turned sixteen and Dean spilled first, their first “I love you” one night in bumfuck Missouri watching the fireflies after the first hunt all three of them went on….

            Sam’s still waxing poetic to himself when he realizes the car’s moving again and Dean’s not gone, still angry yes but not gone, right behind the wheel where he belongs and trying to puzzle together how to apologize to Sam for snapping without actually saying “I’m sorry.”

___

            Sam and Dean return to The Shell Box with bags full of necessities, even if their shopping trip had mostly consisted of them tossing items in a cart while glowering at each other and daring the other to say anything about what they put in (even if Dean’s resolve to be mad did start to crack when Sam dropped three bottles of lube and two boxes of condoms in amongst their other stuff.)

            Nell’s sitting at the bar and smiles when they come back in.  “Glad y’all are back.  Was the food good?”

            “Super, thanks for the recommendation.”  Sam tries to be polite but Dean doesn’t even stop, just continues stomping towards the back.

            “Something wrong with Dean?,”  Nell asks after Dean’s out of earshot.

            Sam sits down at the bar next to Nell and sighs.  “He’ll be fine, he’s just angry at me.”

            “You two were all over each other last night.  I thought Jolene was gonna slide off of her seat if y’all kept carrying on like you were.”  Nell turns to where she can face Sam better.

            “Dean and I… have some differences over what to do next.”  Sam reaches over the bar for a glass and the water tap.  “We’ve been on the road our whole lives and this really isn’t our normal gig, you know?  Working shifts and guaranteed money and all that.”

            “What did y’all do before?”

            Sam looks at the condensation gather on his glass and mulls over what to say next.  “Dean and I are investigators, of a sort.”

            “Like private eyes?”

            “Yeah, something like that.”  Sam sits up and gives Nell a wan smile.  “We’ve been at it a lot longer than I can remember.”

            Nell looks interested, curious about her new employees, so she presses on.  “What do y’all investigate?  Adulterers? Shoplifters?  Little old ladies who own bars?”

            Sam chuckles at the last suggestion.  “Hard to explain, really.”

            “Y’all aren’t government, are you?”  Nell thinks about the moonshine locked in the cabinet that only she has the key to in the kitchen.

            “No, not at all.  The government, ah, they would probably be more interested in us.”  Sam hopes that doesn’t discolor them too much in the eyes of Inelda Linker.

            “Y’all aren’t serial killers, are you?  Y’all seem too nice to be that.”

            Sam shrugs in response.  “Sometimes our line of work involves violence and use of force – but only those deserving of it.” 

            That seems to satisfy Nell enough, even though Sam’s sure he’s said entirely too much.  “Well, I won’t kick y’all out if you keep doing such good work.  However, I do need y’all’s last names.”  Nell hands Sam a W-2.  “Ah do run a legitimate business, after all.”

            Sam shifts uncomfortably because this is exactly what he was afraid of.  Still, Nell’s only doing what she’s supposed to and that doesn’t leave them with too many other options.

            “Do you have a pen?”

            Sam fills out the paperwork with his real birthdate but opts for the last name “Forester” – if Nell’s gotten in contact with Bobby yet he’s almost sure that’ll be the name that came up.  Sam fills in the rest with what information he can, handing it back to Nell when he’s done.

            “I’ll take Dean’s as well.”

            Sam hopes Dean likes the last name Smith.

___

            Dean’s puttering around the kitchen and getting things ready when Sam comes in after an hour of Dean sulking over his griddle.

            “Hey,” Sam says quietly.

            “Hey.”  Dean doesn’t turn to face him, instead turning up the heat on his fryers a little more.

            “Anything I can help with?”  Sam stops just inside the door, should he need to make a hasty exit.

            “Nope.”  Dean’s still not looking at him and Sam sighs quietly.  Without another word Sam crosses through, careful of getting within Dean’s space and heading back to their room.

            Their stuff is still in bags, set down hastily on the bed.  It’s nearly three o’clock and Sam needs to start getting his area and himself ready.  He strips off his shirt, picking out one of the t-shirts he bought earlier.  It’s gray and looks good against his skin, his arms and chest filling the fabric out nicely.  Sam goes over to the mirror above the sink and flexes a couple times, just to see what it looks like. 

            He’s bulked up more over the last year, thanks to being on the road and digging graves and hitting gyms sporadically.  He can’t help but feel like he’s looking at a complete stranger, the way his face has filled out more and his hair is longer.  There’s also a certain weariness that had only been present to a small extent beforehand – now it’s a full blown feature, most prominent in his eyes.  Sam can see the dullness around the edges of his pupils, flat and tinged with sadness.

            Some days Sam feels like the fire at Stanford was only yesterday and he can see the reflection of the flames in his eyes.

            He looks away, opting to splash a little water on his face.  He and Dean need this break badly and honestly, Sam wants more.  In the last year Dean’s died and come back to life, he’s experienced psychic headaches that he still doesn’t have a full explanation for, and they’ve taken more blows emotionally than they can count, between Mary’s spirit finally joining its rightful place and John selling his soul so that his oldest son could live; Sam knows it’s worn Dean down too, no matter how brave of a face Dean’s put on.  Sam knows that it’s partly for his benefit – but Sam has to believe things are okay for Dean to tell himself they are.

            “We’ll be alright,” Sam tells his reflection, needing to hear the words from his own mouth. Besides, right at the moment it’s not like things suck completely – they did use their own money earlier to pay for lunch and necessities.  That’s something they haven’t done in a long while.

            Dean’s busy with seasoning wings when Sam swings back through, Nell standing by as a taste tester (Dean’s going on about something new he wants to try) so Sam doesn’t bother them, glancing back at Dean for the barest of seconds before stepping back out behind the bar, Dean catching his eye and seeing the hint of a reassuring smile on his face.

            Nell doesn’t even look up as she speaks, helping Dean finish battering a portion of the wings. “Ah can’t profess to knowin’ y’all that long but Dean, whatever’s got y’all in a fuss I am sure that Sam’s awful sorry about it.” 

            Dean drops the wings in the fryer and goes to wash his hands.  “I know he is.”

            “Then why don’t you just say you’re sorry too?  Dean, the way that boy looks at you – he worships the ground you walk on.  If I were you, I’d be mighty sorry about somethin’ silly keepin y’all lookin’ so down.”  Nell puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder so that he’ll face him.  “And besides, it’s awful bad for business if the staff ain’t happy.”

            “I’ll talk to him later, okay?”  Dean really doesn’t want to discuss this with Nell of all people but he also knows she’s right.

            “You better.”  Nell gestures threateningly with her wooden spoon before going back outside to check on Sam.

            Dean already has a plan in place for how exactly he’ll make it up to Sam, congratulating himself silently as he starts to flip burgers.

            The bar isn’t as crowded as it was the night before but all the same Sam still receives a healthy number of tips, the tight t-shirt working just as well as the tank top had; better yet he doesn’t feel nearly as naked as he had the night before, even if Jolene Mathers is back on the same barstool and wearing an even lower cut top than the night before.   Sam just pours her drinks, smiles, and ignores her repeated attempts at seduction, which at one point involve her hiking her skirt up nearly to her waist and Sam definitely catches a glimpse of bare skin, not a spec of underwear on her.

            Desperation is such a strong beat, Sam thinks. 

            Sam doesn’t even realize how late it’s gotten when he feels a tap on his right shoulder and when he turns there’s Dean with a plate of wings, pressing them into Sam’s hand as he uses his other to bring Sam down for a kiss, quick and warm and Dean doesn’t say a word, just walks away a moment later and leaves Sam standing there with a dopey sort of grin on his face.

            It grows even wider when he sees Jolene nearly drop her glass.

___

            Sam’s alone in tallying up the night’s takings, Nell having opted to assist Dean clean up the kitchen.  Sam divvies up the tips as equally as he can, a pitcher of water close at hand.  He’s finishing up right as Nell comes out with her apron slung over her shoulder.

            “How’d we do tonight, Sam?”

            “Almost as good as last night, actually.”  Sam hands off her share of tips and stretches, covering a yawn with his right hand.

            “By the way – here’s the name of the bank ah do my business with, should y’all want to open up an account.  Gotta deposit paychecks somewhere.”  Nell hands him a slip of paper with the bank’s name and address on it.

            “Thanks, Nell.”  Sam stands and shakes her hand, Nell smiling up at him as she grips his long fingers.

            “Dean said that he has something waiting for you, whenever you’re ready.  Have a good night, Sam, I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

            Sam waits for her to leave, gathering up him and Dean’s cut of the tips and heading towards the very back.  The lights are off all the way to the bedroom, just a crack in the door spilling a single dim yellow sliver out into the hallway.

            The sight that greets Sam upon entering is Dean laying comfortably on the bed, wearing nothing but the plaid shirt Sam had had on earlier.  It’s just too big on Dean, buttoned loosely halfway down, the bottom of it just stopping above Dean’s junk.  Sam stops and appreciates the view for a moment, leaning against the doorjamb.

            “I’m taking that this is a sign you’re not as pissed at me as you were before?”  Sam starts to take his shirt off, letting Dean get a good look at him in just his jeans and boots before stepping closer to the bed.

            “I knew you’d figure out.”  Dean sits up as Sam crawls up the mattress, meeting him in the middle for a kiss.  Dean pulls Sam down on top of him as he does, Sam still in his jeans as he settles between Dean’s legs, feeling Dean’s fingers slide through his hair and tug gently.

            Dean keeps the plaid on as Sam finishes stripping, helping by groping Sam through his jeans and biting his shoulders and neck, making Sam shiver and lose his concentration.

            “You’re not helping speed this along, you know.”

            “Hey, there’s no rush baby.  Got all the time in the world.”  Before Sam can think over the words too much Dean kisses him again, hard and with lots of tongue, choosing that moment to take both he and Sam’s cocks in hand and start jacking them off.  Sam decides that there’s no point in talking while he’s got his mouth full, especially since Dean’s pulling every trick he knows kiss-wise to make Sam’s brain shut down. 

            They don’t progress beyond kissing and rutting against each other, Dean’s callused palm and fingers keeping a loose grip on them as they slide together, precome sticky and sleepy, softly panting into each other’s mouths as they come together all over Dean’s belly.  Sam does at least have the courtesy tonight to roll off of Dean after he finishes instead of flopping down on him.

            “Didn’t want to get my shirt dirty,” Sam says after snuggling up to Dean’s side.

            Dean takes it anyway and wipes himself down, tossing it to the floor and answering Sam’s death glare with a kiss.  “Did you really want to get up for a washcloth?”

            “Not the point, really.”

            “That didn’t sound like a ‘no, Dean, I didn’t because I had too amazing of an orgasm to move,’ to me.”

            Sam grumbles and turns Dean on his side so that he’s spooning him, Dean reaching over and turning the lamp off once they’re situated.

            For a while there’s nothing but the sound of South Carolina night outside and the sound of each other’s breathing, Dean feeling pleasant and warm and content, his fingers linked with Sam’s over his heart.

            “Dean?” 

            “Yeah?”

            “About earlier-“

            “Forget about it, Sammy.  I thought about what you said and you’re right.”

            Sam kisses Dean’s shoulder instead of answering.

            “Aren’t you supposed to ask about what?”

            “I could.  But I also want to hear you say it yourself.  More fun that way.”  Sam nuzzles Dean’s neck and settles back down.

            Dean opts to turn over so that he’s facing Sam instead of speaking into darkness. “I know, alright?  We’re free or whatever, we don’t have to answer to Dad anymore, that we can forge on as we please and put his quest for vengeance behind us.  The thing is Sam, it was his dying wish.  He gave himself up so that I wouldn’t go to hell.”

            Sam nods, kissing Dean’s forehead.  “I get it’s an awfully big chip on your shoulder.”

            “It is, and I hate it.”  Dean scoots a little closer and lays his head on the crook of Sam’s elbow.  “But all I’m concerned about is us, Sam.  We tried following Dad’s path and look where it’s gotten us.”

            “We’re still here, aren’t we?”

            “Yeah, but look at the cost.” 

            Sam strokes Dean’s hair as he talks, trying to sooth Dean.  “You know I’m with you, no matter what.”

            Dean kisses Sam on the lips, saying “I know you are Sammy, and that’s good enough.”

            Sam kisses back and puts his arms around Dean, keeping him there until they drift off, uncertain of everything but each other.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam’s projected two weeks go by in a mostly pleasant blur.

            They decide that their funds are sufficient enough to where they can check into a motel; there are only two in town, so they check into the cheaper of the two, the deciding factor being the free wi-fi and a king sized bed that looks old but solid.

            “One day we’ll book a luxury suite, Sammy, just you wait. The whole shebang – room service, a Jacuzzi, and a mini bar good enough to where we can get smashed on things we’ve never even heard of.”  Dean immediately flops down on the bed and tests its comfort level, deeming it sufficient enough for he and Sam to crash comfortably on.

            Sam sets down his bag and gets out his laptop.  “You really don’t ask for much, do you?”

            Dean drapes himself over Sam’s shoulder once Sam’s settled on the edge of the bed with his computer.  “Never have, really.  Can’t miss what I never had.”

            “You’ve got me, does that count for anything?”  Sam reaches up and scratches the back of Dean’s head as he checks the local news sites for anything untoward.

            “Sure does.” Dean kisses Sam’s neck up this ear, making Sam shiver.  “I’d trade a Jacuzzi and liquor for riding you any day, and that’s a promise.”

            “Only riding?”  Sam hums with pleasure as Dean’s hands rub across his front, massaging his chest and stomach in meandering circles.

            “Well lots of other stuff too.  Sucking your dick, kissing you…” Dean turns Sam’s head to kiss him, slow and tender, pulling away gently when he’s finished.

            “You’d give up a pampering hotel for all of that?”

            “Can’t have sex with a bed, Sam. Now on it?  Different story.”  Dean takes Sam’s laptop and sets it aside, replacing it with himself in Sam’s lap.  “Or next to it, against it, you know – just not with it.”

            Sam can’t help but snigger at his brother’s indirect yet charming ways of asking for sex.  “And which one of those is your favorite, just in case I’ve forgotten in the last few days.”

            “I’d have to say on it.  That way you don’t have to worry about falling off and you can just roll right over afterwards.”  Dean pinches Sam’s nipples through his shirt, making Sam moan and shiver.

            “Hey Dean?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Wanna fuck?”

            “Thought you’d never ask.”

            With a growl that makes Dean’s skin tingle Sam stands, lifting Dean up and then dropping him to the bed, Sam coming down hard on top of him.  Dean almost ends up with the wind knocked out of him, Sam kissing him like it was willed by divine providence.  Dean doesn’t resist that much when Sam pins his wrists to the bed above his head, settling his weight right over Dean’s crotch to where Dean can’t move.

            Dean breaks the kiss and Sam starts to undress him, pulling Dean’s t-shirt off and then pinning him once more, sinking his teeth into Dean’s neck and collarbone and making Dean hiss through his teeth.

            “I just want to have sex, Sam, not look like I’ve been through domestic abuse.”  Dean squirms a little, trying to dislodge Sam from his skin so that he doesn’t start bleeding.

            Sam licks his way back up to Dean’s mouth.  “I could go easy on you instead, if you want.”

            “Hell no – fucking love it when you get all hot and toppy.”  Dean gets his wrists out from under Sam’s hands and tangles his fingers in Sam’s hair and pulls him down for a kiss, the slight burn in Sam’s scalp spurring him on and causing him to growl again, making Dean’s teeth rattle from the low pitch.  Dean tries to roll his hips but Sam has him weighed down to where he can’t; instead, Sam bites Dean’s bottom lip, sucking it between his teeth and running his tongue over plush, pink to red bitten flesh, making Dean arch forward into him.

            Dean pulls away and licks where Sam’s teeth just were, the skin stinging.  “Where the hell did you learn to do that?”

            “Bet you’d love to know, wouldn’t you?”  Sam laughs low in his chest and it makes Dean’s hair stand on end.  “Jess liked it rough sometimes.”  Sam dives in for another kiss and removes Dean’s hands from his hair.  “Trouble was she never could handle it like you do.”  Dean whines as Sam moves down and licks across his left nipple, tracing a slow, teasing circle over and around it with his tongue before he sucks and bites on it hard enough to where Dean cries even louder.  “Was always afraid I’d break her, you know?”

            Dean moans as Sam repeats the action to his right nipple, still held down firmly by Sam’s ridiculously big hands.  “Want to know what position I liked her best in, Dean?”

            “Sam you really don’t have to-“

            Sam hushes him with a kiss.  “Just let me.  Now face down, ass up.”  Sam lets go of Dean long enough for him to turn over, gathering Dean’s wrists at the small of his back once he’s in position.  Dean’s not sure what Sam’s trying to prove by doing this but he can’t help but feel more than turned on by jealous over the mention of Sam’s dead girlfriend – Sam’s hardly said a word about her since the fire and maybe this’ll spare him a conversation about it in the future; besides, he’s always been more than a little curious about them in bed - the mental image of Sam fucking her with that great big cock of his makes Dean hard in a guilty-bad way but at the same time a mental image is all he’s got.

            Sam kisses down Dean’s spine his other hand rubbing the curve of Dean’s ass as he does, lips leaving electric imprints across his skin, connected by the way Sam’s breath ghosts over each one.  “Liked to fuck her doggy style the best.  God, Dean, she moaned so fucking pretty when I had her like that, loved to be held down and fucked.  Made my dick so fucking hard when she bent over for me, that pretty cunt dripping wet for me.”  Sam bites Dean on one of the ridges of his spine, making Dean cry out – it’s also not helping that he’s so fucking hard he feels like he’s going to burst through his jeans, Sam’s dirty talk making the blood pound in his ears.

            “God, Sammy, don’t fucking stop.”  Dean can feel the precome, making him stick to his underwear as Sam ruts his own denim-clad crotch against Dean’s ass.

            Sam lets go of Dean’s hands long enough to reach around and get his jeans and belt undone, filth still pouring from his lips as he does.  “Got her to squirt one time too.  Should have seen it Dean, the way she shook as it got all over me and my dick.  Made me come while she did it, got my own spunk splattered right back all over me.”  Sam finishes pulling Dean’s jeans and boxers off, leaving him bare assed right there for Sam to see.  “Fucking loved it bareback too, loved the risk.”  Sam drapes himself over Dean’s back, biting at the juncture of his neck and watching Dean’s face and shoulders flush even redder.

            “She fucking loved to be _bred_. Loved to have my cock deep inside her, leaving her dripping with my come.”  Sam lets go of Dean long enough to lean back and take his shirt off, flinging it across the room and then getting his pants undone, pulling his cock out over the waistband of his underwear.  Dean’s mostly flat on his stomach, so Sam grabs his hips and raises him up so that he’s on his hands and knees.

            Dean’s staying quiet in favor of hanging on to Sam’s every word, gasping when Sam grabs his balls in one hand and weighs them appreciatively, rolling them between his fingers and tugging just hard enough to make Dean’s vision go hazy.  “But what I liked best of all about that, fucking her like that?  Got to pretend it was you, Dean.”  Sam kisses the dips at the base of Dean’s spine before sucking a mark right in between them, just as clear as to whom Dean belongs to if it was Sam’s name tattooed there. “Because no matter how wet she got or how pretty she moaned or how hard I got off, she wasn’t you. Never even close, baby.” 

            Dean’s about to reply when Sam rubs his fingers over his hole, Sam having leaned forward and putting one arm around his torso as his fingers tease Dean and derail his train of thought.  “Could never, ever get you off my mind then. Thought about your tight ass, your fucking gorgeous hole – every fucking time Dean.”  Sam kisses Dean’s neck and cheek, Dean turning his head in reflex as Sam’s lips meet his. 

            Sam kisses Dean like he’s never kissed anyone else, giving him everything he has, every time.  Dean can feel it too, the way that Sam gives that little extra push, licking his initials into Dean’s mouth and tongue, Sam’s fingers making sensation dance through his lower body as he keeps rubbing and massaging his hole.  It’s enough to make Dean’s knees shake and threaten to collapse, and Sam hasn’t really touched him all that much – the dizzy feeling he has is purely from Sam’s words alone.

            Dean breaks the kiss long enough to ask “Sam?”

            “Yeah babe?”

            “Can you fuck me like that?  Like how you were just talking about?”  Dean’s perfectly aware of all the times he and Sam have fucked rough and dirty but God, to hear what he’d done to Jess has him wanting it so bad he aches.

            Sam doesn’t say anything, just unwraps himself from around Dean’s body and settles back between Dean’s legs.  “Think you need to ask a little differently than that?”

            “C’mon Sam, please.  Eat me out so you can fuck me.”  Dean wiggles his ass in invitation and Sam gives him a smack, Dean’s cock jumping at the sudden sting of pain.

            “Better than that, Dean.”

            Dean swallows, unable to see Sam but he doesn’t need to – Sam’s as present as ever, his body heat making Dean start to sweat.  “Want you to get me wet.  Like how you got Jess wet.”  Sam doesn’t move, so Dean keeps going.  “Make my… my hole ready for you, Sammy.  Please, fucking want that so bad.”  Dean bites his lip when Sam rubs a finger over his hole, acting disinterested as he maps a circle around it.

            “Getting warmer, Dean.”

            Dean exhales, deciding to just let his mouth run instead of thinking about it – they’ll have plenty of time to do that after they’re finished.  “I want you to breed me, Sam. Want to feel your cock so fucking deep inside my cunt that I’m fucking feeling it for days.  Want you to fuck me stupid and sloppy and _good_ , ‘til I can’t fucking walk and all I’m good for is being your fucktoy.”

            Sam had been stroking himself as he was listening and it’s not until a moment later he realizes he’s got his cock in a death grip, having gotten awfully into what Dean’s saying.  “Fuck, Dean, yeah, yeah I’ll fucking do that.” 

            Dean nearly cries when he feels Sam’s tongue against his balls, lapping at the loose skin between them before he sucks one into his mouth, closing his eyes as he lets it rest for a moment, gently swirling his tongue around its shape.  Dean collapses onto his elbows, body spring loaded with arousal and Sam’s tightening on the trigger more and more with each passing second.  Sam works his mouth open to where he can take both of them, humming as he sucks and swirls his tongue, tugging a little harder the louder Dean moans.

            Dean’s mostly controlling himself until Sam reaches a hand between his legs and grabs Dean’s cock, pulling back his foreskin and rubbing the precome leaking from the tip around, focusing it on Dean’s frenulum and coaxing out even more.  Dean feels his orgasm threaten and he has to bite his tongue to hold it back, not stopping until he tastes blood.

            Reading Dean’s body Sam releases his hold, popping one ball and then the other out of his mouth, taking his hand away from Dean’s cock and settling it on Dean’s right buttock, putting his left on the other as he licks up to Dean’s hole, using the broad, flat part of his tongue.  He tries to work up as much spit as he can, wanting Dean to feel wet and drippy like he asked.

            “You doing alright?,” Sam asks, figuring now’s a good time to check in to make sure Dean hasn’t drifted too far.

            “Nnnn.”  That’s an affirmative, right?

            “Good.”  Sam doesn’t waste any more time, spreading Dean apart a little more and going right in, closing his eyes and making himself comfortable.  Sam can feel Dean’s hole pucker in response, licking over it slowly, tracing figure eights and criss-crosses and spelling every word of the exorcism, his pace maddeningly slow and it drives Dean fucking _crazy._

Then again, it _is_ what Dean asked for and the very least Sam can do is oblige him.

            Dean’s a shaky wreck threatening to collapse in on himself by the time Sam’s done, his muscles twitching and hypersensitive.  Sam reaches for the lube they’d stashed under the pillow a week ago, Dean managing to look behind himself and at Sam.

            Sam catches his eye and smiles, rubbing lube into Dean’s hole as he says “hey, beautiful.”

            “You gonna finish taking your clothes off or do I get to be the only one naked?”  Dean’s voice is rough and scratchy from moaning so much and it’s a really good sound for him, Sam thinks.

            Sam looks down at himself and shrugs. “Don’t have to be.”  He puts the lube down and shimmies the rest of the way out of them, standing up to finish taking them off.  Dean manages to get all of his extremities in agreement to turn around and ease himself to where he’s lying on the edge of the bed, head hanging upside down.

            “C’mere,” Dean says, grabbing for Sam’s ass and pulling him towards the bed, the perfect height so that Dean can open his mouth and suck Sam’s cock, already open and waiting.  Sam doesn’t have much of a choice but to follow through, moaning as the head of his cock travels past Dean’s soft, wet lips, Dean opening his throat up as quickly as he can so that he doesn’t choke.  It’s taken a great deal of time for them to perfect this position but it’s worth the noises Sam makes, partly because it feels fucking amazing and partly because Dean knows Sam gets off on seeing his cock making Dean’s throat bulge out.

            Sam braces himself as best he can without moving, Dean using his throat and tongue to get Sam’s dick wet – Dean wants to reciprocate a little bit, even if it wasn’t necessarily in Sam’s plans.  Dean reaches for the lube and coats his fingers with it, holding his legs open as he starts to finger himself.

            “Fuck, Dean, you look so fucking hot right now.”  Dean hums around Sam’s dick in reply, the vibration from his voice making Sam’s eyes flutter shut for a moment.  Sam wants to reach down and touch but all he can do is rub Dean’s throat, feeling his cock through Dean’s skin. 

            “Yeah, that’s it baby, get my cock nice and wet for your hole.  God, gonna fucking wreck you Dean, make you come so hard that you can’t fucking move.”  He rubs Dean’s throat as he talks, Dean opening up that much wider and Sam nearly gets all the way in before Dean coughs, Sam backing out and watching the trails of spit sag from his cock to Dean’s lips.  Dean’s got tears in his eyes as he looks up at Sam, nodding because he doesn’t exactly have it in him to tell him he’s ready.

            Dean resumes his original position, his arms and thighs quivering as Sam lubes his cock up and slides in, Dean feeling like he’s being ripped apart in spite of the incredibly thorough prep work.  Sam grips Dean’s hips tighter and tighter with every inch of him that slides in until there are red marks where his fingernails are digging into Dean’s body.

            “So fucking _tight_ , Dean, _fuck_.”  Sam has to take a minute before he starts fucking Dean, getting a grip so that he doesn’t come before they even get started.

            Dean clenches around Sam, purely out of spite.  “You gonna fuck me now?”

            Sam leans forward and knocks Dean’s arms out from under him, making him go down on his stomach, Sam still balls deep inside him.  “You’re not in a position to make demands right now, you know.”  Sam gathers Dean’s hands up above his head, linking his fingers around his wrists so that they’re effectively bound together.

            “Doesn’t mean, God, Sam, your fucking _cock_ – I can’t try.”  Sam had shifted in the middle of Dean’s sentence and angled himself to where he’s pressed right against Dean’s prostate, resting his weight on his hips so that he’s pushed as far into Dean as he can possibly get.

            “Just remember” – Sam punctuates his words with two short, sharp thrusts that make Dean see starts – “you asked for this.” 

            That’s when Sam gives Dean what he wants.

            Sam starts by keeping himself draped over Dean’s back, waiting a couple seconds each time before he fucks into Dean, hitting Dean’s sweet spot _hard._ Sam keeps his mouth right next to Dean’s ear, pouring filth in the whole time.

            “C’mon Dean, get loud for me.  Want to fucking hear how much you like my cock up your ass.”  Sam bites on the shell, licking and sucking the cartilage and making Dean groan with pleasure involuntarily.

            “Yeah, that’s it, fucking beautiful when you’re like this, all high and fucked out on my fucking cock.  You fucking love it, taking your little brother’s fucking horse cock, don’t you?”

            “Y.. yes, god, fuck me Sammy, fucking fuck me with your big fucking cock, fuck!”  Dean’s given up on making any sense, Sam flush with his ass and grinding into him slowly – Dean doesn’t know where he starts and ends, the only thing existing at the moment for him being Sam.

            With a growl that makes Dean’s spine nearly cave in on itself Sam picks himself up and picks Dean’s knees up, leaving his upper half pressed to the mattress.  Sam tosses his head to clear his bangs from his eyes and extends one leg out, turning his foot so that he’s got it sideways across the side of Dean’s head.  He gives Dean a second to throw him off if he wants, just in case he’s not down for what Sam’s about to give him.  Dean doesn’t move a muscle, looking back at Sam as best he can and nodding.

            It’s an awkward as all get out angle but Sam’s going to make it work, bracing his other knee against the mattress before he resumes.  Sam starts off slow, just in case it doesn’t feel good for Dean but given the moan he soon picks his pace up, fucking Dean hard and fast.

            “Gonna breed you, Dean. Gonna pump you full of my come, give it to you so fucking deep you taste it.”  Sam growls the words, his body damp with sweat and making it hard to keep a firm hold on Dean, one hand steadied against his back and the other on Dean’s cock, jacking him downwards in time as best as he can manage with his thrusts.

            “Shit, Sam, Sammy, baby, fucking gonna…” Dean can’t take much more, not at the harsh pace Sam’s set and the world-record setting pace for most strokes per second Sam’s setting on his cock – that and Sam’s foot holding him down is doing all sorts of things it shouldn’t be and Dean isn’t exactly willing to ask him to remove it.

            Sam doesn’t stop until he can feel his orgasm taking off, fucking Dean until he’s screaming at the top of his lungs, coming so hard that he almost loses his balances, Dean coming sometime between Sam drawing breath to shout all over the sheets, Sam milking it out of him roughly until there’s nothing left and Dean sees solid black.

            “Dean?”

            Dean opens his eyes, no longer on his stomach and the first thing he sees is ceiling.

            “Hey, Dean, you okay?”

            Dean turns his head and there’s Sam, still flushed with sex but looking and sounding far more like Sam than he had a few minutes ago.

            “How long was I out?”  Dean does a quick check to make sure that all of his parts are still attached and aside from feeling very, very sore down south everything’s accounted for.

            “Fifteen minutes.”  Sam’s laying propped on one elbow, eyes hooded with contentment.

            “Damn.”  Dean looks over himself, seeing the bruises in his hips and the ache in the back of his neck where Sam had pressed down with his foot too hard.  “Gonna be feeling that one for a while.

            “Yeah, I’m… I’m sorry about that, really.  I didn’t mean to hurt you, at all.”  Sam looks sorry about what happened and Dean immediately pulls him to his face and kisses him.

            “Sammy, you ain’t got a damn thing to be sorry for, trust me.  That. Was. _Amazing_.”  Dean intersperses the last three words with kisses, each one driving his point home.

            “So if that happens again you aren’t gonna take off?”

            “Hell no!  Asked for it, didn’t I?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Then don’t you worry about a thing, babe.  I’m good, better than actually.  You know I get all tingly when you take control like that.”

            Sam gives him a dimpled grin and runs his fingers through Dean’s mussed hair.  “Well if it’s all the same to you, can we make out for a while and then shower?”

            “Better idea – both at the same time.”

            Dean’s knees give out the moment he tries to stand and Sam ends up carrying him to the bathroom, much to Dean’s (very much put on) chagrin.

            They make out until they’re pruny anyway.

___

            Sam wonders if Dean knows, or if he’s genuinely forgotten.

            The two weeks that they had agreed upon have passed already, and they’re coming up on the close of the third. It’s Saturday night and the bar is packed, the autumn solstice having come and passed – even if it doesn’t actually feel like it yet.  The air’s still muggy but Sam can almost feel the cool air if he holds still, coming down from the mountains to the west.  Sam’s not had many autumns in the south, for whatever reason.

            All the same, Sam hasn’t said anything about the fact they’ve stayed longer than they were anticipating. 

            They’ve been in town long enough that Sam now has a running route, five miles round trip, and people have started to recognize him by sight, enough to where they give him a friendly wave when they see him. (Jolene Mather’s wave being more of a seductive look because Sam runs shirtless but that’s not on account of any attempt to show off – it’s just so damn _hot_ he can’t stand the feeling of fabric against his skin.)  They’re already regulars at Cornelia’s for breakfast, for the last week even before noon.

            For the first time in a long time, Sam realizes he’s actually been getting a full eight hours every night.

            He pretends to not notice how Dean looks less and less weary every day, just lets Dean carry on – but the fact that the invisible burden he feels is lifting slightly with each sunrise is undeniable.  Dean also smiles at least once a day now Sam loves it, to see his brother happy.

            He just doesn’t know how to break the news to him that it’s from not being on the road so much, and he’s sure that Dean’s aware of that much anyway.

            They’re on their dinner break, almost ten o’clock and Nell had insisted they eat before they fell down.  Dean made them a special batch of wings with his new sauce recipe, something infused with BBQ sauce that Sam can’t peg down as anything but delicious – the fact that Dean’s getting to experiment with this sort of thing makes it clear that they’re in a good place.

            Sam’s munching away happily when Dean wipes his mouth and grabs Sam’s wrist, fixing him with a sincere look, a “we need to talk but I don’t want to say it that way” look.

            “Can I ask you a question Sammy?”

            Sam nods and takes a drink of water to wash down his wings.  “Sure.”

            “Do you like it here?  I know it’s not California but it’s nice, right?”  Dean fidgets in his seat, biting on his lip nervously.

            Sam acts like he doesn’t catch on to what Dean’s trying to say and decides to play along.  “It’s a small Southern town, so I guess so far as they go yeah, it’s alright.”

            “Just alright?”

            “Fine, better than alright.”  Sam watches the wheels turn in Dean’s head as he figures out what to say next, smiling inwardly to himself.  Dean’s really kind of cute when he gets like this.

            “I guess… Sam, have you looked at yourself lately?  You look good.  And happy.  Hell you’ve even gained some weight.”  Dean gestures to Sam’s belly and yes, Sam’s noticed his abs aren’t quite as defined as they were a month ago but that’s hardly cause for alarm, right?

            “Could say the same thing about you, Dean.”  Sam takes Dean’s hand that’s still on his wrist and kisses it.  “I think it’s a good look on you.”

            Dean keeps going like he didn’t hear Sam, taking a breath before he continues. “I mean... if we ever like, settled down, would this be the sort of place you’d want to be in?  Hypothetically.  Just in case.”

            “Aww, are you asking me to move in with you? I’ll ave to consult my friends first to see if they approve of you.”  Sam smiles and watches Dean try his hardest to not get flustered.

            “Sam, do you want to stay here?  It won’t be two kids and a picket fence but…  I mean, if that’s how you need to hear it then there, I said it.”  The words tumble out in a rush and Dean looks like he’s just swallowed poison knowingly when he’s finished.

            Sam reaches for both of Dean’s hands ands and rubs his thumbs over Dean’s knuckles, soft and tender.  “You know I’m with you no matter what, right?  You’re all I’ve got left Dean and whether it’s living out of the car forever or an apartment in a sleepy Southern town, I’m there with you.” Sam kisses each of Dean’s knuckles before releasing his hands and sitting back.

            Dean’s eyes are either glistening with tears of relief or the light’s reflecting on them just right because Dean looks beyond relieved – jubilant, actually.  “We probably should have talked about this more, y’know?”

            “Why bother?  Especially when I’ve kind of been wanting to ask the same thing.  I like normal, boring life.  I mean it’s not that boring to me but to you maybe...”

            “Because you’re no fun.”  Dean grins and throws his balled up straw paper at Sam.

            “That’s not what you said last night when I had my tongue in your-“

            “Fine – you’re fun _once in a while_.”  Dean finishes his beer and stands up.  “But I like you that way.”

            Sam stands with him and stretches, his shirt riding up a little and flashing Dean a sliver of belly.  “I don’t plan on changing any time soon.”

            Before Sam can start to take up their plates Dean grabs him and pulls him close to his body, his mouth right on Sam’s.  “I love you.”

            The words catch Sam by surprise and he feels his stomach turn a backflip – ninety nine percent of the time it’s implied but to hear the words come out of Dean’s mouth does a lot for Sam.  “I love you, too.”  He kisses each word back to Dean, not letting go of him until he absolutely has to. 

            Nell smiles at them both before they get back to work, patting her boys on the shoulder as they walk by.

            Her boys.

            She likes the sound of that.

___

            Sam’s counting out the tips from the evening when Dean sidles up to him at the bar, almost three thirty in the morning and both of them giddy tired.  Dean hands him a cold beer, stashed in the back of the refrigerator just for them after their shift.

            “Want to see if that jukebox has anything other than country music on it?”

            “Hey, I like George Strait.”  Sam kisses Dean’s shoulder before turning back to his stack of bills.

            Dean looks at Sam like he’s just committed some sort of grisly murder and shakes his head.  “I don’t know you and I want Sam back.”  Dean gets up and goes over to the jukebox, flipping through the albums. Much to his chagrin it’s exclusively country and he’s heard enough Garth Brooks and Randy Travis to last him a lifetime – and those are just the names he recognizes.  He casts a quick glance back over his shoulder to Sam, still absorbed in his work, his forehead resting against his head with weariness.  Dean turns back to the jukebox, determined to find something that’s not that horrible and at the very back of the albums he comes across a collection of Patsy Cline hits.  Dean puts four quarters into the machine and as soon as “Crazy” starts playing he goes back over to Sam.

            “Hey Dean do you-“  Sam’s words are cut off by a kiss as he’s pulled off of the barstool and onto the floor, Dean’s arms going around him as they start to sway back and forth.  Sam pulls back and looks at Dean just to make sure he’s feeling alright.

            “Uh, Dean?”

            “Shut up – I’m just tired and buzzed enough to not be embarrassed, alright?”  Dean kisses Sam on the mouth again and Sam’s certainly not going to try and stop him, not when Dean’s holding him so closely and he tastes like Jack Daniels and home.  It’s the first time in weeks Sam’s tasted any sort of hard liquor on Dean’s tongue – that in and of itself makes Sam feel a lot better about their situation.

            Sam rests his head on Dean’s shoulder and kisses his neck.  “What kind of place should we get?”

            Dean hums along with the music for a moment before responding, eyes close and breathing in Sam’s scent.  “Just one requirement – a shower big enough for both of us to fit in comfortably.”

            “Is that all?”

            “A kitchen.  Not a stove shoved in one corner, a kitchen.”

            Sam nods, pulling Dean a little closer.  “One or two bedrooms?”

            “One, Sam.  That’s been working pretty well for us for a while, hasn’t it?”

            “Just thought that maybe you’d like your own space, is all.”

            Dean kisses Sam’s cheek and temple.  “And why would I remove the least lame thing from that space, huh?”

            Sam laughs and steps back so that he can look Dean in the eye.  “You’re a real poet, you know?  Like my own filthy Dante.”

            “I like Tennyson better.”

            “So a Romantic?”

            “Hey, I’m very romantic.”

            Sam kisses Dean again as the music starts to die down, dipping him on the last note.

            “I’ve never once disagreed with that.”

___

            Dean’s awakened the next day by the absence of Sam’s chest under his head, instead waking with his head resting on Sam’s thigh and the sound of Sam clicking away at his laptop.

            Dean blinks the sleep from his eyes and sits up, Sam scratching his back as he stretches.  “Coffee first or do you want to see what I’ve found so far?”

            Dean mumbles something about coffee and climbs out of bed, his boxers riding low so that when Dean gets up to head to the bathroom Sam gets a lovely view of the top of his ass, whistling as Dean stumbles sleepily and flips him off.

            “You’re beautiful always Dean!”  Sam says to a shut door.  He does get up and pour Dean a cup of coffee from the motel room’s pot, miniscule yes but it’s better than nothing at all.  He’s sitting at the table when Dean comes out, looking significantly less disgruntled about having to be awake.  He takes the cup from Sam and takes a long sip before he decides he’s ready to engage the thinking parts of his brain.

            “Hit me.”

            Sam turns his laptop so that Dean can see the places he’s found.  “There are three complexes here in Laurens and a couple in Clinton, most of them ranging from five to seven hundred dollars a month.  I figure we should probably go for something cheaper since we don’t exactly make a ton of money.  They all look pretty clean and safe – but then again, common robbers aren’t exactly what we deal with, right?”

            Dean shakes his head and drinks more of his coffee.  “And all of these places have apartments on the ground floor, right?”

            Sam nods.  “I made sure of it.  And I reconsidered the one bedroom deal, too.”  Sam leans a little more forward to show Dean what he has in another tab. “If we got one with two bedrooms we could use one as a war room, of sorts.  Put up some bulletin boards, set up a table, buy some books – we don’t have to give up the business, necessarily.  Just keep an eye on things around here.  Besides, we could always use a home base and don’t have to limit ourselves to just this area.”

            Dean can’t help but smile at the hopeful look on Sam’s face, lit up like when he’d get a good grade on a paper and was proudest of all to show Dean, knowing that Dean would be the one who’d show appreciation for it. It makes Dean’s heart soften, the innocence that Sam still retains in a lot of ways.  Dean honestly wishes Sam would have never had to experience anything to tarnish it 

            “You’ve really thought this through in the last… fifteen hours, haven’t you?”

            “Of course.  I didn’t see any reason not to so… yeah.”  Sam hides behind the lid of his laptop, just his eyes and nose visible, giving Dean his puppy dog look.

            “You don’t have to make the face, you know.”  Dean’s grin widens in spite of himself.

            “But it’ll get you to go look at these places faster with me.”

            Sam does raise an excellent point there.  “Food first. It’s Sunday and that means unlimited bacon at Cornelia’s.”  Dean gets up and walks around the table, pulling Sam up out of his chair.  “But before we even do that, how about a shower?  With me.  Wet, naked, all of that fun stuff.”

            Sam kisses Dean hungrily and reaches down to cup his ass.  “I think that’s a really, really good idea.”

            Their shower lasts a lot longer than anticipated, given that they spend a far greater amount of time groping each other than actually washing but hey, the hot water’s not going to run out _that_ fast.

            Dean’s not going to complain about the blowjob Sam gives him, either, even if it is awfully cramped for Sam to kneel down and blow him.

            Sam figures he’s more than worth it.

___

            They’re on their second cup of coffee a piece and Dean’s working his way through his third helping of bacon when Sam gives him another “we need to talk” look.

            “Given that we’ve worked through most of the crap eating at us the last couple days I’m almost afraid to ask what that look means.”  Dean picks up another piece of bacon and waits for Sam to spill.

            Sam lowers his voice and leans in so that only Dean can hear him.  “You know he’s still out there, right?”

            “Who?”

            “Azazel.  Just because there’s not been anything going on around here doesn’t mean he’s not out there.”  Sam looks down at his grits like they’ll provide the answer of what exactly they should do about him.

            “It’d be a lot more fun if you called him You-Know-Who.  Except he’s real.  And comes after us instead.”  Dean furrows his brow, waiting for Sam to pick up the reference.

            “I mean, is it not weird to you that this town’s clean?  No ghosts, no vampires, nothing.  It’s almost like there’s something keeping them from existing in this area.”

            “Sam, you can’t tell me that you think that this town not having a touch of Lovecraftian weirdness is a good thing.”

            “It is, I swear.”  Sam scrubs his hands over his face before going on.  “I just… I have this gut feeling, Dean.  Like he’s made all of that stuff not happen and he’s biding his time for us.”

            “And when were you planning on letting the class in on this information exactly?”

            “I thought it just might be some of my old psychic crap flaring up but… this is different.”  Sam looks back up at Dean, the innocent expression from earlier replaced by concern of the heaviest kind, worry drawing long shadows across Sam’s face.

            “Do we wait for the fucker to kill something or do we draw him out to play ourselves?”

            “I’d rather not involve other people.  He’s killed enough because of me.”

            Dean reaches for Sam’s hands across the table.  “You know it’s not your fault, Sammy.”

            “Isn’t it though?  I mean, clearly he wants something, and I don’t know a whole lot of other people who get weird psycho flashes when they think a demon’s drawing near.”  Sam’s trying to keep his voice down but Dean sees a few sets of eyes swiveling their way in spite of that.

            “Listen, we’ll figure it out, alright?”  Dean gives him as reassuring of a smile as he can manage.  “Just not here in front of people. In fact I’m surprised they haven’t lynched us yet anyway.”

            Sam does give Dean a small smirk at that remark.  “Because they haven’t watched us fuck.  Think that would give ‘em reason?”

            Dean shrugs.  “Could be a show they’d never forget.”

            “Well we did ride into town covered in spunk, remember?”

            “Hey, _I_ cleaned myself up beforehand.”

            “And _I_ was driving.”

            “Still it was pretty hot though.”

            A flash of Sam jerking off behind the wheel flashes through Dean’s mind.  “Extremely.”

            Sam returns his leering grin ten fold.  “Didn’t I promise a trip back to the lake at some point?”

            “I think so.  Why?”

            “After we off Azazel, you wanna do that?”

            “It’s a date, Sam – so when do we go demon hunting?”

            Cornelia brings them their check with a healthy amount of trepidation in her eyes after hearing that particular exchange.

___

            “You know, I’m starting to think that living in a motel isn’t actually that bad.”  Dean rubs his hands over his face, yawning with exhaustion.

            “We’ve only been to two places, babe.”  Sam makes a couple more notations on his legal pad as Dean starts the car and backs them out from in front of their second stop.  “And the third time’s the charm, right?”

            “Yeah, for normal people who aren’t on Hell’s Most Wanted list.”  Dean turns up the radio and falls silent, already knowing where he’s going next – it just can’t be easy, can it?  They’d already looked at six different floor plans and none of them had what they’re looking for.  Sam’s tried to bolster Dean’s optimism as much as he can but that’s not exactly been easy, considering this isn’t exactly something they’re good at. 

            “Dean, listen – we’re not giving up anything,” Sam says after a few minutes of stony silence.

            “It’s not that, Sam.”

            “Then what is it?”

            “It’s not… Sam, we’re not a ‘normal couple,’ you know that right?”

            “And who’s to define what exactly ‘normal’ means anyway?”

            “What if there’s another hunter in town who knows us, Sam?  What if they find out we’re brothers?”  Dean looks genuinely worried, and that’s never, ever a good thing in Sam’s experience.

            “Play them off as crazy?  How many people are actually gonna believe they’re in town hunting ghosts anyway?”

            Dean doesn’t say anything.

            “Listen – it’s not like it’s stopped us before.  And for me it won’t now or ever, Dean.” 

            “Just wish that this wasn’t your life, Sam, is all.”  Dean barely whispers the words and Sam has to strain to hear them.

            Sam sighs and reaches out to touch Dean’s shoulder.  “You have nothing to feel guilty about, you know that.  Every decision I’ve made about this – us – I made on my own.  I want to be here with you, and I always will.  You don’t think that finding a place to settle down with you isn’t something in my top ten list of things I want but never thought I could have?”

            “I guess not.”

            Sam leans over and kisses Dean’s cheek.  “Driving down crazy street together, right?”

            “Yeah.”  Dean smiles and Sam kisses him again.

            “And living on it won’t be so bad, either.”

            Dean violently wants to believe that’s true.

            Their last stop is probably the nicest of the three they’ve looked at, and Sam’s hopeful.  It’s not that the previous two were bad, they simply didn’t fulfill their needs – and if they’re going to do this seriously, Sam figures they can try and come as close to ideal as they can.  Sam walks behind Dean as they stride towards the office, close enough to reach out and grab Dean’s hand if he wanted to.  They’re lucky insofar as the rest of the places they’ve looked at have all been open today, and luck strikes again when they find the door open.

            A pleasant looking man in his late fifties looks up at them with a genuine smile as they walk in.  “Hi there, welcome to Meadowbrook Apartments.  Is there something I can interest you gentlemen in?”

            Sam steps in and starts talking, letting Dean have a look around the office just in case the fellow’s a demon.  “We’re interested in something like this.”  Sam shows him the notes he’s written down, flipping to the page with the absolutes he and Dean had come up with.  “Do you think you can help us out?”

            Donald – as the man’s name tag reads – takes the notepad and scans over the page, tutting the whole time.  Dean finishes his perfunctory inspection of the office and sidles up behind Sam, slipping a hand up underneath the back of his shirt and resting it in the small of his back.  Sam drifts by reflex even closer, tilting his head when Dean leans in to whisper to him.

            “Doesn’t seem like there’s anything out of place here.  No sulfur, no runes, nothing.”  Before he pulls away Dean does nip Sam’s ear though, making Sam jump enough to where Donald looks up at them.

            “Everything alright?”

            Dean flashes him a wide grin and says “never better. Say uh, how long has this place been open?”

            “A long time now, ever since I can remember, anyway.  Why do you ask?”

            “Curiosity.”  Dean smiles again and runs his fingers up Sam’s spine.

            Donald looks at them like they’re both covered in blood and turns back to Sam’s legal pad.  “Have y’all been in the area long?”

            “A few weeks,” Sam answers.  “And we liked it so much that we decided to stay.”

            “Got a job here in town?”

            “At The Shell Box.  I’m the bartender and Dean’s the cook.”

            “You mean chef, Sam.”  Dean pinches Sam’s bottom and Sam has to bite his tongue to conceal a yelp.

            “Oh, _that_ Sam and Dean!  Yeah, Nell’s mentioned y’all once or twice.  Haven’t been to her bar in a while, may have to see how she’s doing here soon.”  Donald’s pleasant expression returns as he hands Sam his pad back.  “I think I may have just the place you’re looking for.”

            They follow Donald out of his office and towards the second block of buildings, behind where the Impala’s parked.  Dean tries to grab Sam’s ass again on the way over and Sam swats at him, giving him his best “really, now?” look and trying to get Dean to behave.  Donald’s oblivious, even when Sam whispers “Christo” – it’s enough to ease their being on guard to where they can at least pay better attention to the place they’re checking out.

            Upon entering the door, Dean honestly doesn’t think they could have asked for a better place.

            Immediately inside there’s a fairly roomy sitting area, complete with space for a couch and chair, dark tan carpeting underfoot.  Behind it is a kitchen, divided by a small bar from the living room, up to date refrigerator and stove in place.  Dean makes a beeline for it, inspecting things for himself.

            “These look new,” Dean calls from where he’s testing out the stove.

            “Just put them in a month ago.”  Donald moves to the center of the room, Sam standing in the kitchen with Dean and looking around.

            “How come no one’s rented this place anyway?”  Sam opens the refrigerator to check out its capacity, pleased with what he sees.

            Donald gives Sam’s back a shrug.  “This isn’t exactly an area lots of folks move to.  Don’t mean we can’t make it nice for those who do.”

            Dean turns to Donald and claps him on the shoulder.  “I’m really liking what I’m seeing so far. Sammy, you ready to have a peek at the rest?”

            Sam follows them down the hallway towards the bedrooms, a bathroom in the left side of the hallway.  Dean ducks his head in real quick and checks it out, following Sam and Donald into the master bedroom.

            “It does come with its own bathroom, and a large closet.”  Donald opens the doors facing where Sam imagines they’ll put their bed.  “The water pressure’s also recently been adjusted so that it’s not as weak as before.”  Donald steps over to the bathroom, opening the door and moving aside so that Sam and Dean can have a look for themselves.

            Space wise it’s not enormous but the shower’s spacious, a full glass stall with what Dean suspects is a multi-speed head.  Sam takes his shoes off and steps in sock-footed to make sure he’ll fit, beckoning Dean to try it after he gets out.

            Dean looks at Sam and gives him a dark look, lips slightly parted and his pupils wide – the look Sam mostly sees when he’s about to rail Dean into the mattress or other similar activities - Sam knowing exactly what he’s picturing and turns to Donald.

            “Can we have a sec, to talk it over?”

            Donald gives a slight bow.  “Of course.  I’ll be in the living room.”  They wait for Donald to leave before Dean launches himself at Sam, pulling him into the shower and kissing him hard and wet, Sam groaning when Dean grinds his hips against his own, breaking them apart when he feels himself start to get aroused.

            “I’m taking it that that means yes?”  Sam stops Dean’s hand before it reaches his crotch, Dean giving him a disappointed look.

            “When can we move in?”  Dean tries for another kiss but Sam leans away from him.

            “We need to find out how much this place is gonna cost, first.” 

            “Hey, that’s easy enough – yo, Donald!  How much would this place run us?”

            Donald’s at the bar getting out some paperwork when Dean comes stomping in.  “575 a month normally but since y’all are friends of Nell’s, I can make you a deal for an even 500.  Friends of Nell’s are friends of mine, and Nell’s a mighty fine judge of character.”

            Sam takes the application for a lease from Donald and smiles.  “Can we move in tonight?  We don’t have a whole lot so…”

            Donald looks at them with surprise.  “Can you have the paperwork and a deposit to me in an hour?”

            Dean takes out his wallet and hands Donald 600 dollars.  “Will that cover it?  And Sam’s really fast at the whole paperwork thing, being part pure bred geek.”

            Sam elbows Dean in the ribs and continues filling out the form, making Dean grunt and try to shove him back.

            “I think that’ll be alright.  And you have your own furniture, I’m assuming?”

            Sam and Dean share a look before answering.  “We will, yeah but I think we can manage it.  Dean, sign your name?”

            Dean looks down at the place where Sam’s signed – and notices it says Sam Winchester instead of Sam Forester.  Dean whispers “you know that you-“

            “I do.”  Sam gives him a look of assurance and gives Dean a small smile.

            Dean signs the last name “Winchester” and gives Sam a kiss as he does, leaving Donald looking rather flustered looking.

            Half an hour later they have keys to the front door, checked out of their motel and on their way to the store.

            “You alright Sam?”  Dean’s driving but can barely keep his hands to himself, alternating between holding Sam’s hand and rubbing his thigh.

            “Dude, of course I’m alright.”  Sam squeezes Dean back, seatbelt nearly an afterthought from leaning over to pepper Dean’s neck and face with kisses.

            “Little surreal, isn’t it?”  Dean stops at a light and turns to give Sam a quick, hard kiss.

            “Do you kind of feel like you’re floating, or something?”  Sam can’t keep the grin off of his face, dimples out in full force and God it makes Dean’s heart sing to see them pitting his cheeks so deeply.

            “Or something, yeah.”  The tires chirp when Dean mashes the gas pedal too hard, realizing there are a few cars behind them, Sam letting him go but keeping his arm on the back of the seat so that he can reach up to touch the back of Dean’s head.

            “Hey Dean?”

            “What are we gonna sleep on tonight?”

            “Huh.  Sleeping bags, tonight I guess.  We could always look for a bed tomorrow before work.”

            “Work – we should probably let Nell know our address.”  Sam starts to get out his cell phone but Dean stops him.

            “Tomorrow – right now let’s just enjoy the moment, alright?”

            It takes up almost half of their cash reserve but they end up getting most everything they need to start a semblance of settled life, even if Dean does protest over half the groceries ending up being what he deems to be “rabbit food.”

            “Hey, I’m helping pay for it.”  Sam says, putting another bag of tomatoes in the cart.

            “Come on Sammy, we just signed the lease for our first place.  Live a little.”  Dean almost wants to put another pack of ground beef in just to spite Sam, leaning on the cart and pouting.

            “Hey, we’re going to be doing _plenty_ of that.”  Sam winks at Dean and it’s enough to assuage his protests for the moment.

            “I’m hoping that _plenty_ means copious amounts of your naked ass and everything else.”  Dean waggles his eyebrows and ogles Sam’s body.

            “Of course it does.”

            Dean can definitely get behind that.


	5. Chapter 5

“So Sam, how do burgers sound for dinner?”  Dean’s helping him carry in their chairs and table they scored from the consignment shop, battered but sturdy things that look like they should last for a while, given that Dean’s already proclaimed that they’re going to have sex on the table at the first opportunity.

            “So long as you don’t bitch when I eat a salad with it.”  Sam smiles inwardly at the face Dean makes, mumbling under his breath about how there are vegetables on a burger and you don’t _need_ a salad to go with it.

            It’s idyllic, almost, putting things in place, arguing over where they should put the furniture they don’t have yet, bumping shoulders as they prepare dinner, Dean pointedly not acting like it’s his idea to kiss Sam every two minutes – Sam feels like that this shouldn’t be real, not after all the crap they’ve been through and the life they had beforehand.  Then again, now’s likely not the time to try and look the gift horse in the mouth considering they’ve not even been moved in for an hour now. 

            “We’re gonna get a tv, Sam, a big one.  One with separate speakers that make the floor shake.  Imagine how freaking awesome that’d be Sam, watching Star Trek or porn or hell, even football.”  Dean sounds jubilant as he flips burgers, two apiece for Sam and himself.

            “Maybe we should think about stuff like furniture first?”

            “A tv is furniture.  You get it in the same place you get a couch, don’t you?”

            Sam gives a long suffering sigh and gives Dean a warm look.  “Remind me to go with you when you go tv shopping.”

            Dean waves his spatula at him and glares.

            They’re halfway through dinner when Dean’s phone rings, making them both jump since neither of them were exactly expecting a call.

            “Hello?”

            “How soon can you boys get to North Carolina?”  It’s Bobby and from the sound of it he’s driving – fast.

            “Depends on what part, why?  Something going down?”

            “Yeah, somethin’ big.  Looks like we’ve got demon activity – and not just your run of the mill sort.”

            Dean puts his phone on speaker so that Sam can listen in too.  “Tell us what you’ve got Bobby, Sam’s listening in too.”

            “Out near Clemmons – Greyhound got stopped by the police for a license check.  Ten seconds later everyone on that bus is dead and your names are written on the side in blood.  Looks like someone’s after y’all and witness reports say they saw a man with yellow eyes.”

            “Azazel,” Sam and Dean say in unison.

            “Well glad to know y’all are on a first name basis.  Either way we probably need to stop it before shit gets worse.”

            “We’re rolling out now, Bobby – where are you?”

            “Coming through Virginia, uh, outside Richmond.  See you boys soon.”  Bobby hangs up and leaves Sam and Dean in silence.

            Dean sits back and blows out his breath.  “What do you think?”

            “I think that this is our chance to end it, Dean.”  Sam grabs Dean’s hand and squeezes.

            “Then let’s roll.”

            Ten minutes later they’ve secured home base and have duffles slung over their shoulders, just past eight o’clock and the last rays of sun still setting beyond the horizon.

            In the car, Sam takes stock of their weapons.  “Only a couple bullets left in the Colt.”  Sam clicks open the chamber and inspects the two projectiles still in place.

            “Just means we have to make ‘em count, unless you’ve managed to forge more bullets in the last month.”

            Sam shakes his head.  “Probably wouldn’t have been a bad idea, huh?”

            “I was kidding, you know.”

            “I wasn’t.  What if we can’t stop him?”

            “Hey, what’s with the drop in morale?”

            “Because this is it, Dean.  This is our chance to free ourselves and we may not get another one.  Either we end up dead or he gets away, or we’re dead AND he gets away.  Not exactly an ideal situation.”

            “Is anything we do ever an ideal situation?” Dean looks at Sam for a moment before turning his eyes back to the road.

            “I thought those burgers were good and the apartment’s nice.”  Sam lace his fingers with Dean’s on the seat between them and Dean doesn’t pull away.

            “Shame we didn’t get to finish ‘em, huh?”  Dean gives a short, sardonic chuckle.

            “They were pretty amazing.”  Sam picks up Dean’s hand and kisses each knuckle before putting it back down.  “And we will survive this, forget what I said a minute ago.”

            “Already did, baby boy.  And when we get back, we’re gonna test out that shower, see if it can handle the two of us.”  Dean says it all low and throaty, making Sam’s skin prickle with desire.

            “Yeah?”

            “Fuck yeah.  Gonna bend over and spread my legs for you, want you to eat me out until your tongue’s making me beg for your dick, Sammy. Fucking love it when you do that.”  Dean licks his lips as he imagines the sensation, shifting around in his seat as his cock stirs.

            “How fast do you want it, Dean?”  Sam brings Dean’s fingers back up to his mouth, uncurling them and sucking on his index finger, tongue swirling lazy circles from the tip down to the webbing.

            Dean moans, feeling his toes curl in his boots as Sam fellates his fingers.  “God, however you wanna give it to me, Sammy.  Such a slut for your tongue, you know that.” 

            Sam emphasizes Dean’s own point by taking his middle and index fingers and jabbing his tongue between them, holding them together and getting them dripping wet.  Dean makes a Herculean effort to watch the road and not Sam, cock straining against his jeans.  Sam looks at Dean’s face, captivated by his parted lips and the way his chest rises and falls as his breathing changes, arousal making his skin burn hot.

            “Shit, Sam, feels so fucking good.”  Dean wants to reach down and unzip himself, get his cock out and stroke but Sam’s got his other hand occupied and he can’t take the one he has on the wheel off.

            Sam takes notice of Dean’s struggle and cedes his hold on Dean’s hand, reaching over and carefully unzipping Dean’s jeans, taking his cock out through the fly of his boxer briefs.  Dean gasps when Sam takes him in hand strokes upwards, making his foreskin bunch up between his fingers.

            “Keep talking Dean,” Sam murmurs as he works his hand on Dean’s dick, biting and sucking on Dean’s earlobe at the same time.  “Tell me what you want so that after all this is done I can rock your world, baby.”

            “Want your fingers and tongue at the same time, really hold me open so you can eat my ass.  Fucking want to scream on your tongue Sam, so fucking bad.”  Dean puts his right hand on Sam’s thigh, sliding down and in so that he can grope Sam’s dick through his jeans.  Sam moans when he grabs at the head through the denim, moving the fabric back and forth and Dean can tell that Sam’s hanging out of underwear, his flesh hot through the fabric.

            “Bet I can make you scream now, Dean.”  Sam reaches two fingers inside Dean’s open fly and takes his balls out, loose and heavy from the heat.  With a grin that makes Dean go weak most everywhere, Sam leans down, stretching himself out across the seat and putting one knee in the floorboard.  Careful to not bump the steering wheel he kisses Dean’s cock, putting his mouth on the underside and using the flat part of his tongue to get him wet. 

            “Shit, Sammy that feels fucking amazing.”  Dean’s fingers tangle in the hair at the back of Sam’s head, pulling in reflex as Sam keeps teasing him.

            “Not even close to done yet, babe.”  Sam looks up at Dean for a second before he comes all the way to the top of Dean’s dick, opening his mouth wide and lapping at the slit.  Sam tastes precome, bitter and salty, rolling it around in his mouth and absorbing its flavor before taking the head in between his lips and sliding down slowly, stopping halfway.  Dean’s not uniformly thick like he is, widening at the middle and then getting bigger down to the base.  Sam pauses for a moment, not only to let himself relax but to tease Dean’s dick, teasing at the space where Dean’s foreskin is pulled back. 

            Dean settles back in his seat, trying to give Sam as much room as possible.  “Hope this isn’t the last blowjob you ever give me.”

            Sam shakes his head without letting Dean out of his mouth, humming a “no” and sucking as much of Dean in as he can.  He holds himself there until he’s got tears running down his face, his right hand tugging and pulling at Dean’s balls.  Dean nearly runs off the road, unable to shift his hips to try and fuck Sam’s face.  Sam pulls back, getting his left hand around Dean’s cock and stroking as he sucks on the head. 

            “Trying to kill me, Sammy, _fuck_.”  Dean goes a little cross eyed when Sam pulls his foreskin all the way up and sucks it between his teeth.

            “Never, Dean.”  Sam comes up for air and a kiss, keeping his hand going on Dean’s cock.  “Why on earth would I do that?”

            Dean reaches for Sam’s cock but Sam bats his hand away.  “You drive.  I’ll be fine.”

            “C’mon Sam, might be our last chance.”  Dean really, really hopes that his words aren’t true.

            “It won’t be – on the way back, you can give _me_ road head.”  Sam kisses Dean’s cheek again before going back down, determined to finish what he’s started.  Dean jerks the wheel abruptly, Sam sucking _hard_ and making him veer into the other lane, their journey nearly cut short by an oncoming log truck.  Sam barely takes notice, stroking Dean’s cock and feeling it get momentarily thicker than normal before Dean sputters as he comes, pulling so hard on Sam’s hair that Sam feels his scalp burn. 

Sam swallows every drop, Dean panting above him and Sam doesn’t let off until he feels Dean soften all the way, sitting up and taking a deep breath, cock tenting his jeans out down his left leg.  Sam unbuckles his pants and shoves them down along with his underwear, pulling the front of his shirt up and tucking it behind his neck.  His cock throbs with each beat of his heart, Dean slowing down and watching Sam as he gives himself four quick strokes, come exploding from his dick and hitting Sam’s open, waiting mouth, half of it getting in his hair and on his face and the rest dripping down his chest and stomach. 

            “Holy shit, Sam!”  Dean’s in awe, Sam shaking through the whole process and sitting back once he’s finished, a lazy smile on his face.

            “I get turned on getting you off, in case you hadn’t noticed.”  Sam licks his lips and swallows, following it with his spunk sticky right hand and licking his fingers clean.

            Dean finally just pulls over, unbuckling his seatbelt so that he can lick up the come cooling on Sam’s body, making a show of it and letting Sam see it in his mouth before pursing his lips and dripping it onto Sam’s tongue, Sam getting impatient and sucking it out of Dean’s mouth, growling as he pulls Dean more or less into his lap.  Dean feels himself try to get turned on again, his cock aching as he reaches half-hard before Sam lets him go, out of breath and his lips shiny with spit and spunk.

            “Sloppy seconds are good too, right?”  Sam smiles and runs his fingers through Dean’s hair.

            “No complaints here, baby boy.  What do you say we go kill ourselves a demon now and then have a sex marathon when we get back home?”  Dean kisses Sam’s chin before sliding back behind the wheel and putting them back on the road.

            “There’s not a single part of that sentence I dislike – you have some fantastic ideas, you know that?”  Sam leans his head against the window, opting to just let himself air dry instead of wiping off with a rag.

            “Someone’s got to, even if you are the geek.  You just gonna let everything chill like that?”  Dean runs his fingers over Sam’s body in appreciation.

            “Why not?  We’re gonna be living together so you may as well get used to seeing me naked.”  Sam shuts his eyes and grins to himself.

            Dean pinches Sam’s nipple in retaliation for being a smart-ass, even if Sam’s naked body is probably the loveliest thing he’s ever seen.

___

            One a.m in the middle of the Piedmont of The Old North State, Sam decides, is probably one of the creepiest places on earth.

            They’re in Forsyth County, beyond the city limits of Clemmons, the area clear of traffic save for them due to the accident, as the authorities are calling it.  They flashed a couple of fake F.B.I badges to the cops guarding the checkpoint a half mile out from the scene, too nervous to argue with Sam and Dean, especially since it seemed like they knew what they were doing.  Sam feels a chill run down his spine as they approach, going on the alert because he can feel Azazel’s presence like a black fog, closing over him until he’s stifled for breath.

            “He’s still here, Dean.”  Sam whispers it quietly, fingers tightening around the gun in his lap.  “I can feel him.”

            “Hey, now don’t get jittery Sam – fly casual,” Dean says in his best Han Solo impression.

            Sam does spare him a look of utter incredulity, turning in his seat and shaking his head.  “Now is so not the time for Star Wars quotes, Dean.”

            “It’s _always_ time for Star Wars quotes, Sam.  Especially when you set them up without even realizing it.”  Dean beams, picturing Sam in just a Jedi robe and nothing else. 

            Sam doesn’t reply, just returns his gaze to the road and curls his finger around the trigger.

            “Hey, isn’t that Bobby’s car?”  Dean gestures to a Chevelle pulled off to the side of the road near the bus.  Even in the dark Dean can see he and Sam’s names scrawled in blood across the Greyhound’s side.

            “It might be but I don’t see Bobby anywhere.”  Dean rolls the Impala to a stop, Sam getting out with his holy water and gun at the ready.  He raises the pistol up when the driver’s door of the Chevelle swings open, standing his ground as a figure gets out.

            “Easy does it, Sam, it’s just me.”  Bobby approaches with his hands raised, seeing Dean join Sam with his own weapon raised.

            “If you’re Bobby then how come you’re still alive and not dead already?”  Dean points the Colt at Bobby, just in case.

            Bobby rolls his eyes and pulls down the collar of his shirt.  “Anti-possession tattoo, remember?”  The ink is faded but it’s there all the same.

            “Alright, cover yourself.”  Dean makes a mock disgusted face and Sam snickers.  “Don’t want to be arrested for public indecency.”

            “Shut up, you idjit.” Bobby approaches and Sam and Dean lower their weapons, slightly more reassured now that they know Bobby’s Bobby and not someone just wearing him.  “Surprised the two of you made it here without gettin’ murdered on the way in.”

            “Those cops are scared shitless, they weren’t gonna do anything.”  Dean looks around, nothing but them and the road and the moon visible.

            “Not them, Dean.  This place is crawling with demons, and they’re ready for us too.”  Bobby gestures towards the open air, Sam’s eyes following his hand.

            “Where are they?”  Sam goes ramrod straight, listening for any odd noises that aren’t of the natural world.  “We didn’t see any on our way in.”

            “Suppose they were waiting on you two, seeing as how it’s your names on that bus.”  Bobby hitches his thumbs over his shoulder towards the wrecked bus.

            “Guess they’re all in there?”  Dean’s tempted to shoot the back of the bus just to shoot what happens but Sam puts his hand on Dean’s bicep when he raises his gun, easing his weapon back down.

            “We better do this the right way.”  Sam pulls out a piece of paper from his pocket, Latin scrawled on it in Sam’s flowing handwriting.  Dean goes doubly alert as Sam starts to read the incantation, intended to summon forth demons, Bobby covering their rear and waiting.

            “There’s no need for all that, Sammy.”  Sam jumps halfway through the summoning, Azazel off to their left, smiling to himself.  “I’ll always come when you call.”

            Dean swivels around and points the Colt at Azazel’s head.  “Move any closer and you’re dead.”

            Azazel laughs, a horrid, cackling sound that makes Sam’s bones rattle.  “You truly believe that peashooter is going to take me down?”

            “It’s been working pretty damn good so far.”  Sam gets that cold fog feeling again, getting stronger as Azazel approaches them.  “What do you want?”

            “The same thing I’ve always wanted Sam – you.  I can’t begin to understand how you’re not clear on that yet.”  Sam feels something dark and ugly caress his body and he shies away from it, backing into Dean.  “Lucifer himself wants you.”

            Sam doesn’t even want to begin that process that right now – why on earth would the devil be asking for him?  “Well I’ve got news for both of you – I’m not going anywhere.”

            Bobby has his shotgun at his shoulder and his finger ready on the trigger.  “If you want him then yer gonna have to fight for him.”

            Azazel knocks Bobby flat with a flick of his wrist, Bobby grunting as he hits the pavement.  “And you believe you can stop me?  I can’t begin to fathom why on earth you would want to.  Do you have any idea what these two are like, the things they’ve done under _your_ roof?”  Azazel holds Sam and Dean back as he crouches to be level with Bobby, yellow eyes unblinking as he looks directly at Bobby.  “You should hear Dean when he takes his own brother’s cock.  Squeals and moans just like a bitch, Bobby. Damned good show too.”

            Bobby tries to speak but he can feel his oxygen supply being cut off, Azazel looking up at Sam as he holds them all in his grasp. “And your father – he finally broke when I told him about the two of you.  That’s what did him in, turned him into a monster.  Knowing what his boys are like.”  Azazel chuckles, lifting Sam and Dean off their feet and pinning them to the back of the bus.  “He did love you, you know, more than anything else in the world.  The only link he had left to Mary, and you two screwed it up.”  Azazel tsks, shaking his head.

            “You don’t _fucking know_ , you fucking son of a bitch.”  Dean’s teeth are gritted, fighting to keep the Colt in his grasp but failing, the gun clattering to the ground as Azazel uses his powers to wrench it from his fingers.  “Don’t fucking know what Sammy and I-“  Dean chokes as invisible fingers close around his throat, gasping for breath against Azazel’s grip.

            “Oh I do know.  All too well Dean, and Sam knows it too.  All I have to do is take you away from him and he’d fight like nothing else to get him back.”  Azazal gives a derisive snort.  “Such a pity, considering how worthless you are.  It’s Sam who’s the prodigy, not you.”

            “Don’t fucking listen to him.”  Sam’s furious, rage making his blood boil in his veins, snarling the word at Azazel.  “Dean, don’t fucking listen to him _I swear you’re not_ -“  Sam’s words are cut short by the same power holding Dean, nostrils flaring in anger as Azazal walks closer, either biding his time or genuinely terrified of them, given how slowly he’s moving.

            “Would you do it, Sam?  Kill me if I took Dean from you?  Or would you give in to save him.”  Azazel rakes unseen claws over Dean’s belly, making blood blossom across the dark green cotton of his t-shirt.

            Sam watches in horror, trying to scream “no” but the words die on his tongue.  Dean’s eyes are shut, a silent howl of pain trapped in his throat as Azazel works himself under his skin, intent on making Dean suffer as much as possible before he kills him.  “I can end this right now Sam.   You know I can.”

            “Hey, ugly!”  Azazel whirls around, Bobby having managed to get his hands on his shotgun again, Azazel having been focusing his efforts on Sam and Dean.  The blast goes wide but it’s enough of a distraction for Sam to focus his energy on the dark currents that he thought had gone dormant in his body, breaking Azazel’s hold on him and lowering himself and Dean to the ground, Dean collapsing from his injuries.  Sam runs for Azazel, tackling him to the ground, sitting on his chest and punching him square in the nose.

            Azazel fights back, getting his hands on Sam’s neck and squeezing hard enough that Sam’s convinced his trachea is going to cave in.  “I’d hate to have to kill you before I brought you back to Lucifer.  He doesn’t deal well with his projects being broken before they start.” 

            Sam doesn’t flinch, just keeps punching Azazel in spite of the fact his vision is going black, pure and utter hatred fueling his fists until Azazel’s face is an unrecognizable pulp and he’s about to pass out from his oxygen supply being cut off, his head throbbing as he feels his psychic energy building.  It’s like a dormant volcano inside him coming awake, burning hot under his flesh as it pitches higher and higher towards the surface.

            “Don’t fucking touch my brother,” Sam snarls, teeth clenched as his pupils turn dark, using one hand to get Azazel’s fingers from around his neck.  “He’s fucking _mine_.”  Sam hauls up Azazel bodily, one hand clenched around his throat, Azazel’s skin burning and smoking under his hand as his powers mount, Sam’s heart racing faster and faster until it’s thudding so loudly in his ears he doesn’t even hear Azazel’s screams.

            Sam throws Azazel towards the bus, so hard that it cracks open the back of his head, scrambling back to his feet as Sam rushes him and slams him against the metal again, using his hands to keep Azazel’s shoulders in place as he knees him in the gut, Azazel now in fear for his life, his meat suit bleeding from around his neck where Sam burned him.

            Azazel laughs in spite of the beating Sam’s affording him, spurring Sam to only hit him harder.  “You think that you can finish me?  Oh Sam, you’re so naïve it’s pathetic.  Maybe Lucifer was wrong about you.  All of this for him, Sam?”  Azazel strikes back, his words having distracted him just long enough to land a blow to Sam’s gut, hard enough to make Sam’s breath leave his body.

            “You could rule this world, Sam.”  Azazel pushes Sam to the ground, his foot coming to rest on Sam’s throat.  “But if don’t cooperate then there’s not much I can do for you.  Keeping Sam in place, Azazel lifts Dean off the ground again, Bobby fighting off two more demons that had appeared, doing his best to counter their blows but failing.  “See them Sam?  Fighting for you.  Imagine a whole army fighting for you, with you at the head.  They’re so much less than you Sam, and you know it.  You know you’re destined for greatness.”  Azazel smile through bloody, broken teeth, blood dripping from his destroyed nose onto Sam’s body.

            “Exorcizo te, immundíssime spíritus-“ Dean starts, using every ounce of energy he can call up to shout the words.  It’s enough to get the demons off of Bobby and for Azazel’s pressure on Sam’s throat to ease just enough for Sam to get his hands around Azazel’s leg and flip him.  Sam leaps off the ground and hurls Azazel into the pavement, hearing the sickeningly satisfying sound of Azazel’s forehead cracking.

            “Omnis incúrsio adversárii, omne phantasma, omnis légio…” Sam continues, kicking Azazel in the side.  “in nómine Dómini nostri Jesu+Christi eradicáre, et effugáre ab hoc plásmate Dei.”

            “Sammy!”  Sam turns, Dean holding his front and tossing the Colt to Sam.  “Finish it!”

            Sam catches the antique weapon, his boot held firmly on Azazel’s back, channeling his powers downwards to keep Azazel from moving.  The exorcism ritual continues to roll off his tongue, black smoke pouring from Azazel’s minion’s mouths, shrieking into the night as they fly back to hell.  Sam barely notices, lining up the Colt with the back of Azazel’s head.

            “Canticum Magníficat, ut supra; in fine Glória Patri.  Canticum Benedíctus, ut supra: in fine Glória Patri!”  As Sam finishes the prayer he fires the remaining bullets into Azazel’s skull, each one causing a bright flare of orange light that nearly blind Sam.  Azazel dies with an almighty roar, his essence dissipating, nothing left of his head but a bloody mess.  Sam drops the gun, tears and blood running down his face, body aching with energy that he shouldn’t have tapped. 

            Dean’s lying on the ground, drawing short, shallow breaths, hands clasped over his stomach as he tries to staunch the wounds.  Bobby’s next to him, keeping his head elevated.

            “Sam, we gotta get him to a hospital now.”  Bobby looks scared, and that’s not a look Sam’s used to seeing on the old hunter’s face.

            “What about…”  Sam gesture to the dead bodies around them, knowing they can’t just leave them where they are.

            “I’ll take care of ‘em.  I’ll try to explain to the boys in blue what happened.”  Bobby helps Sam get Dean to the Impala, easing him into the passenger seat as carefully as he can, Dean groaning with the effort to stay upright.

            “Forsyth Medical Center’s the closest.  Go.”  Bobby slams the door, Dean leaning against it as Sam speeds away, rocketing towards Winston-Salem as fast as he can.

            Dean’s eyes are screwed shut, but he’s smiling.  “We got him, Sammy.  He’s gone.” 

            “Dean, not now.”  Sam’s voice cracks, tears blurring his vision.  “Just… not now.”

            “’M proud of you baby boy, so fucking proud.” Dean passes out, blood staining his shirt even further, blossoming scarlet and getting on his jeans.

            Sam nearly hits a nurse as he slides into the emergency entrance, flashing his F.B.I. badge, getting Dean out of the car and carrying him in.

            The nurse at the desk manages to get Dean into surgery within two minutes of Sam walking in the door, Sam having to be held back as they wheel Dean away on a gurney. 

            Sam’s the only person in the waiting room, save for the nurse that tries to tend to the bruises on his neck, shrugging her off and stalking outside.  The Impala’s still at the emergency entrance, covered in yellow where a demon had gotten close as it was exorcized.  Sam wheels it to a parking spot and stalks back inside, coming down hard in one of the chairs and burying his face in his hands.

            He can still feel it, the power that Azazel has instilled in him, the darkness that Sam had thought he’d suppressed.  It’s far too potent to simply ignore, beckoning him to harness it.  Sam shuts his eyes even tighter, willing it back down to the recesses of his cells.  Azazel’s words still echo in his mind, clinging to his thoughts.  Was that truly his destiny, to rule hell?

            Sam feels like he’s about to break down and there’s not much he can do to stop it.

            “Sam?”

            Sam looks up, tears still welled in his eyes, Bobby standing there looking worried.  “Hey.”

            Bobby sits down next to Sam and leans forward.  “He’s gonna be okay, you know that, right?”

            Sam doesn’t say anything, swallowing against the bile rising in his throat. 

            Bobby gets up and goes to the bathroom, bringing back a wet paper towel for Sam.  “Here.  Might help if you get cleaned up.”

            Sam wipes his face off, using the distraction of getting rid of the paper towel to get up and go in the bathroom, throwing up until he’s got nothing left to give, shuddering as his stomach empties itself.  He stays down for a long while, hunched over the toilet until Bobby comes in and brings him back out into the lobby, sitting him down and rubbing his back.

            “I’m sorry you had to…”  Sam inhales before he keeps going.  “That you had to hear that.  About me and Dean.”

            “Don’t worry about it, Sam.  Nothin’ I didn’t know already.”  Bobby pats his shoulder, groaning at the pain in back.  “The two of you aren’t nearly as subtle as y’all want to think.”

            Sam turns beet red, unable to find his voice completely, his words coming out in a sort of squeak.  “We we’re gonna tell you.”

            Bobby shrugs.  “Listen, it’s none of my business and personally, I don’t care.  Y’all are adults.  And after everything you’ve been through, I mean…”  Bobby’s voice trails off and he adjusts his cap, clearly ready to get off the subject.  “But you did get him, Sam.  He can’t hurt you and Dean no more.”

            Sam does smile at that, wiping away a tear of happiness.  “I did, didn’t I?”

            “And you and Dean can get old and fat now without worryin’ about it.”  Bobby tries his best to sound hopeful, clapping Sam on the shoulder again.

            “Yeah, we actually just rented a place.”

            “No kiddin’?  Down in Laurens, right?”

            “Yeah. Oh man, Bobby, it’s great.”  Sam perks up, telling Bobby more about The Shell Box, Laurens, Nell, and the little slice of heaven he and Dean had started to carve out for themselves.

            “It sounds great, Sam, really.”

            Sam nods in agreement, thinking about the plans he and Dean had made before leaving for North Carolina.  “Just hope that it’s not all about to end, y’know?”

            “Hey, he’ll be fine.  Dean’s too mean to let a little old scratch like that take him down.”

            Sam chuckles, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.  “Yeah.” 

            They end up drinking coffee and watching some horrid infomercial about waffle makers, followed by a rerun of Gilmore Girls (that Dean Forester kid’s a spittin’ image of you, Sam,) and recounting war stories until the surgeon comes out, a blonde man who looks as though he’s on the edge of collapsing from exhaustion.

            “He’s awake now, and wants to see you.  I’m assuming you’re Sam?” 

            “Yeah.  Is he alright?”

            “He will be.  How he survived that I don’t know, but he’ll be fine.”

            Sam doesn’t even wait for the doctor to tell him where Dean is, tearing past him and looking in doors until he finds Dean in a corner room, heart monitor beeping slowly but steadily, Dean’s eyes halfway open as he turns his head when Sam walks in.  Sam can’t help but break into a smile as he approaches the bed, pulling up the chair and sitting himself as close to Dean as he can, Bobby hovering in the doorway.

            “How ya feelin, kid?”  Sam does his own Han Solo impression, making Dean grin to the best of his abilities.

            “See, don’t they make you feel better?”  Dean reaches for Sam’s hand, linking their fingers together.  “Bet we’ll be pulling the ears off of gundarks in no time.”

            Sam laughs and kisses Dean’s knuckles.  “You feeling alright?”

            Dean groans, trying to sit up a little more.  “I’d sooner drink Bobby’s moonshine than go through this again, and you know how awful that stuff is.”  They hear a derisive snort from the door, Bobby mumbling something about his moonshine being perfectly good and going off in search of a soda, letting Sam and Dean be alone for a bit.

            Dean waits until Bobby’s footsteps have faded before continuing.  “Hurts like a son of a bitch but hey, nothing a little TLC won’t cure.”  Dean winks at Sam, giving him the most lewd smile he can manage.

            Sam gently whacks his forearm, then kisses his cheek.  “You never quit, do you?”

            “Not when you’re around, Sammy.  You know that.”  Dean reaches up and cups his fingers at the back of Sam’s head, bringing him in for a kiss.  Sam gives in easily when he feels Dean’s tongue swipe against his lips, opening his mouth and smiling as Dean does his best to drag Sam into the bed with him.

            The night nurse has to break them apart so that Dean can rest, Sam promising he’ll be right down the hall when Dean wakes up again in the morning.

___

            Their sex marathon doesn’t happen quite as planned.

            In fact, it doesn’t really happen at all.

            The doctor had let Dean go the next day with both he and Sam’s promises that he’d be very, very careful of his stitches, along with following the directions for bed rest.  Dean had promised so profusely that Sam had managed to swipe some extra painkillers too, Sam giving his best puppy look until he’d left with his pockets stuff full.

            The thing about bed rest, of course, is that one needs a bed.

            Just crossing over the South Carolina border, Sam finally wakes Dean from his Vicodin-induced slumber after he gets off the phone with Nell, having relayed the weekend’s events to her in as much detail as he felt safe.  Dean comes to slowly, blinking the sleep from his eyes and sitting up as best he can.

            “What’s up?”  Dean slurs the words, still very much under the effects of the pain pills, dopey sort of look on his face.  “We home yet?”

            Sam reaches over and scratches Dean’s head as he says “Not yet.  Still have a ways to go, but I just thought of something.”

            “You always think Sam, you’re so good at it.”  Dean grins as Sam reaches the back of his head.

            “We don’t have a bed Dean, and you need bed rest.  So I guess before we settle in we need to uh, do that.”

            Dean either gets lost in the feeling of Sam’s fingers for a while or he’s actually thinking, eyes shut either way.  When he finally says something, Sam startles a bit because he wasn’t expecting it.

            “Just one request.  Memory foam, Sam.  Shit’s comfy as hell and we need it for stuff.”

            “Stuff?”

            “Like sex.  And recovery.  Stuff.”

            Sam contemplates Dean’s words, Dean burbling as Sam keeps running his fingers over his scalp.  “King size, yeah?”

            “Definitely.”

            “Guess we have a stop to make once we get to Laurens, then.”

            By the time they roll into Laurens, Dean’s long passed out again, snoring soundly against the window, Led Zeppelin turned way down low in the background.  Sam can’t exactly justify waking Dean, seeing as how he’s got a pretty good idea of what exactly it is they’re looking for. Sam’s been sleeping with Dean long enough to know what he wants, and Sam will admit – memory foam is awfully nice.  And seeing as how they’ve just ridded their lives of the one thing they were willed by their father to do, why not go all out?

            Sam rolls the window down for Dean as he pulls into the mattress store parking lot, kissing him on the cheek and leaving him with a knife tucked under his thigh should he need it.  It’s not the biggest store in the world but it’s also the only one in town, and Sam has a feeling they’ll find what they need.  He double checks the wad of cash he has in his pocket, having changed into a spare t-shirt that isn’t covered in blood and gore – he’d gotten enough strange looks at the hospital last night.

            Walking in he’s surprised to see that the place has a far greater deal of variety than he had been expecting, packed and stacked wall to wall with mattresses.  Sam makes a beeline for the bigger ones, testing out each one with his hand as he walks along the row.

            “Can I help you find something – oh, hello Sam!”  Sam turns around and comes face to face with Jolene Mathers. 

            Terrific.

            “Uh, hey Jolene.”  Sam’s heart sinks a little as he straightens and crosses his arms.

            Instead of putting Jolene off it only encourages her, Sam practically feeling her eyes slide over his biceps and chest.  “Didn’t figure I’d be seeing you in here anytime soon.”

            “Well, Dean and I just rented a place and this weekend…”  Sam picks his words carefully before he continues, “we ran into some trouble and Dean needs bed rest as a result.  So we need one today.”

            Jolene moves to look out the window to see if she can spot Dean, Sam stepping in front of her in order to block her view.  “And the sooner the better, I suppose?”

            “Exactly.”

            “Well, I do know a thing or two about them, and as much as I’d love to take you down on one with me…” - Jolene winks at Sam and Sam swears his skin physically crawls - “I will behave myself.  Now, what do you have in mind?”

            Sam tells her what they’re looking for and soon enough he’s shown the only two beds which match his description.  Truthfully the term two different beds is misleading, seeing as how they’re the same brand and the only difference is one’s a king and the other a queen.  Sam lays down on the king size, taking his customary spot to the right, making himself relax and really feel it.  It’s close to perfect, Sam thinks, not too soft and not too hard.  He tries laying on his side, wincing as the bruises on his stomach throb with the effort of turning himself over.  Even then it doesn’t diminish the bed’s comfort, Sam moaning softly as he sinks into the mattress.

            “I’ll take it.”  Sam’s unwilling to part with this bed, and he’s sure Dean’s going to feel the same way.  “How much?”

            Jolene sits on the edge of the bed, just close enough to make Sam uncomfortable.  “For you?  A thousand dollars. I haven’t been able to sell this bed in two years, so you’re getting a deal.  Just promise me that you’ll think of me at least once in it?”

            The woman’s persistence is admirable, Sam will give her that. “I don’t make any promises, Jolene.” Sam gets up and hands her the cash, giving her he and Dean’s address for delivery.  Sam does throw her a bone by sauntering out, swearing he hears Jolene purr as he walks out the door. 

            Dean’s awake  as Sam starts the car back up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and looking around.  “Did you get us a bed?”

            “It’ll be delivered tonight, babe.  Gotta make a couple stops though, if you don’t mind.”

            Dean leans over and kisses Sam’s neck, sliding his hand up Sam’s thigh at the same time.  “Not at all, Sammy.”

            Their next run for homemaking results in a T.V. for their bedroom and bedroom furniture from the consignment shop, Sam deciding that living out of duffel bags has lost its luster.  They arrange for delivery at the same time as their bed, that way it’s all in place together.  Dean doesn’t argue about what Sam chooses either and Sam’s never been gladder for Vicodin, Dean hazy and happy and holding Sam’s hand the whole time.

            Another stop at the department store wins them bed sheets (1000 thread count, dark blue) and they arrive at their apartment just ahead of their bed and furniture.  Sam helps as best he can, Dean holding down the fort in the kitchen with a beer, holding his stomach out of reflex more than pain.

            Sam tips the delivery men as well as he can, thanking them on their way out the door before turning back to Dean, sporting a warm smile.  He walks over to the kitchen table, pulling Dean gently up out of the chair he’s situated himself in and giving him a long kiss, pulling away slowly and resting his forehead against Dean’s.

            “What’s going on, Sammy?”  Dean’s a little tipsy from the beer and still floating from the painkillers.

            “First, I’m gonna get you cleaned up.  Secondly, you’re gonna get some proper rest while I get this place more settled.  Third, I’m going to make us some dinner.  Sound good?”  Sam kisses Dean again, sliding his fingers under his shirt and gently scraping his fingernails over the base of Dean’s spine.

            “Is there any chance of a blowjob in there?”

            “Would you be aware of it?” 

            Dean gives him a pouting look and grumbles “no.”

            Sam kisses his forehead and takes Dean by the hand.  “C’mon – let’s go test out the shower.”

            Sam does Dean the favor of stripping first so that Dean can perv on his naked body all he wants, going slowly so that Dean can see every inch of him.  He winces when Dean reaches out and touches the bruises on his stomach, his fingertips feather light across Sam’s flesh.

            “Hit you hard, didn’t he?”  Dean wants to kiss them but Sam’s already shied away from him.

            “Just proof we survived.”  Sam helps Dean get his clothes off, Dean grumbling the whole time, “I can do it myself, Sam” and “Dean, just let me help,” but soon enough they’re both naked, Dean defiantly walking himself to the bathroom and leaning against the sink as Sam gets the water ready.

            Sam remembers the doctor saying that Dean’s stitches were waterproof, glad for it since helping Dean wash up will be that much easier as a result.  Sam lets Dean get in first, listening to his brother’s groan of pleasure as the hot water hits his skin.

            “Holy shit, Sammy you gotta get in here.”  Dean reaches out and pulls Sam in, Sam closing the shower door behind him.

            It’s more than big enough for the two of them, Sam finds, the water pressure heavenly and the temperature just this side of scalding that they both have deemed to be perfect.  They spend a couple minutes kissing slowly, Sam’s grip on Dean gentle as gentle as he can manage without making it seem he’s being cautious with him.

            Dean pulls away when he’s out of breath, cupping Sam’s face.  “This is freaking awesome, baby boy.”  Dean smiles, the hot water making his lips even pinker than usual.

            Sam returns the smile and puts his hands on Dean’s hips.  “It’s just a shower, Dean.”

            Dean shakes his head, water droplets cascading left and right.  “Not what I’m talking about.  I mean, this whole place.  And The Shell Box.  And Azazel being gone – Sam, we made it.  Isn’t that something?”

            Sam laughs, hugging Dean tight to his body.  “It really is, Dean.” Sam runs his fingers through Dean’s hair, kissing his shoulder.  “And I’m glad we’re doing this, you know?”

            “Yeah, I do.”  Dean reaches for the soap and starts to lather his hands up.  “And you know what?”

            “What?”

            “I like it, really.  And I want to keep it this way, too.  It’s nice not constantly being mauled or clawed or whatever else.  Uh, present condition aside.”  Dean gestures to his stomach, the wounds still red and raw.

            Sam kneels down for a better look, guilt coloring his cheeks at Dean getting hurt like this.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him in time.”  Sam peppers the gentlest of kisses all around the stitches, holding onto the backs of Dean’s thighs as he does so.

            Dean looks down and tilts Sam’s chin up, indicating for him to stand again.  “Not your fault, babe.  You did so fucking good out there and you saved my fucking ass.”  Dean kisses him, sliding a soapy hand up the back of Sam’s neck.

            Sam can’t help but turn his thoughts back to last night, the way his body trembled with power he still doesn’t want.  “Not how I wanted to end it.”

            “But it worked, right?”

            Sam’s silent for a moment, resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.  “Do you not see what happened?  My powers, Dean… God, I didn’t want to do it like that.  Scared the shit out of me, knowing I can do that.”

            Dean rubs Sam’s back soothingly, feeling Sam starting to shake.  “Don’t have to ever use ‘em again, Sammy.  No one’s gonna make you.”

            “But they’re still there, Dean! I can’t get rid of them!”  Sam’s voice is a harsh whisper, fingers curling into fists.  “I didn’t want them in the first place!”

            “Hey hey hey, easy, Sam.”  Dean puts his hands on Sam’s shoulders and steps back to look him in the eye.  “You’re not gonna change from having them.  Not to me anyway.”  Dean kisses his cheeks, tasting the salt of tears.  “You can count on it, I promise.”

            “I’m just afraid of hurting you, is all.  I don’t want that.”

            “And you won’t.”  Dean kisses Sam on the mouth, soft as can be and making Sam calm down a little.  “Haven’t been able to get rid of me before now, have you?”

            Sam shakes his head.

            “And if it takes giving up hunting altogether if you’re afraid of ‘em flicking back on, then we’ll consider it.  But I’m not gonna put you in a situation where you have to, baby boy.  We call our own shots now.”  Dean takes Sam’s hands and squeezes them tight.  “Just you and me, Sammy, and nothin’s gonna put a stop to that.”

            Sam gives a half sob, half chuckle, smiling as he wipes his eyes.  “I like the idea of just you and me.”

            “Me too.” Dean gives Sam another kiss, humming contentedly into his mouth.

            Dean’s not much help in washing, the Vicodin he’d taken before getting in the shower kicking in, clinging to Sam as he’s scrubbed over, grunting with pleasure when Sam digs into his back with the washcloth.  Sam thinks Dean’s putting on a show at least partially but it’s not often he gets to touch Dean’s naked body without Dean trying to grope him back.

            “You’re heavy.”  Sam tries to shift Dean off of him but to no avail.

            “Am not – I’m your brother.”  Dean smiles to himself, grin getting even wider when Sam scrunches his nose in reaction.

            “Get off of me.”

            “You’re warm and comfy.”

            “And you’re about to pass out and I’ve already carried you once in the last twenty four hours.”  Sam manages to get Dean upright long enough to scrub himself down quickly, Dean glassy-eyed and looking quite pleased with the world.

            “When did you carry me?”

            “Last night.  You uh, passed out.”

            Dean looks down at Sam’s belly, focused on his navel. “Huh.  Don’t remember that part.”

            “All you need to know is that you’re fucking heavy.”  Sam kisses Dean on the mouth as he shuts the water off, Dean taking that as invitation to glomp to Sam’s body.

            If Dean was unhelpful with washing he’s absolutely useless with drying, making a nominal effort at lifting his arms so that Sam can rub the towel over his body. Sam does the best he can, until Dean tries to grope him and pouts when Sam pushes him away.

            “Later, Dean, I promise.”  Sam decides to just leave Dean naked and helps him to bed, tucking him under the covers he’d put on earlier and watching Dean’s face as he sinks into the mattress.

            “This is the best fucking bed Sam,” he slurs, “in the history of ever.”  Dean yawns, his eyes closing slowly as his medicine kicks in fully.

            “Sleep well, Dean.” Sam kisses him, Dean slipping under almost right away.  Sam digs a pair of sweatpants out of his bag, emptying out the rest and sorting the dirty from the clean, folding and putting away what he can and stuffing the rest back in his bag.  He does the same for Dean’s clothes, holding the more rank garments away from him and considering some of them to be on the level of a biohazard.

            Their unit has its own washer and dryer, and Sam makes good use of them, starting a load of dirty clothes before he shuffles off to the kitchen, yawning wide as he goes. The Shell Box is busy right now, happy hour in full swing, Nell having told him that she’d get help for the evening and for them to come back when they were ready.  Sam finds himself wondering if they’d be content working there in a long term sort of way, stopping that train of thought just as soon as he starts it – that’s a conversation for another day, and right now they need to rest and recover.  Right now his stomach’s growling and he’s kind of hoping there’s enough ground beef left for a burger.

            Hell, Dean has at least rubbed off on him in that regard.

Sam eats in quiet contentment, making himself a salad to go with his burger, enjoying the silence and the fact that this is their place, not some squalid motel room with mysterious stains on the carpet.  It’s surreal, sure, but already he’s getting used to it.  For the longest time Sam thought that it might be just a dream, this sort of settled life.  He had it partly with Jess, sure, but it wasn’t… right.  Sam always carried guilt with Jess, because every time he kissed her there was Dean, whiskey lips forbiddingly alluring against his own and smoky green eyes that looked at him with complete and utter devotion and with it _understanding._

Something that Jess never, ever could have comprehended even if Sam had told her the truth.  Of course, he couldn’t – she wouldn’t have believed him anyway.  Sam puts a stop to his melancholic thoughts, deciding that dwelling on the past isn’t exactly a healthy way to spend his time – the past is what’s landed them where they are.

Of course, where they are isn’t exactly a bad thing.

Sam finishes eating, putting his dishes in the sink and wondering what he can do next.  There’s still plenty of stuff that they need, and Sam supposes now would be as good a time as any to make a master list, seeing as how Dean’s not exactly the best company at the moment.  Sam doesn’t mind, knowing Dean’s better off asleep then awake right now, and he’s not going to wake him if he can help it.

Sam retrieves his notepad from his book bag, setting his laptop on the table along with him should he need it.  The first thing he does is write down seeing about wi-fi, seeing as how they’re going to need it.  Next is writing down what other furniture they may need, such as a coffee table, a second television, a desk – it’s all taken into consideration and by the time Sam’s finished he has a page and a half full of things that range from necessary to strong wants, deciding he’ll revise in the morning.

            He switches over the laundry, starting another load before going to check on Dean.  Dean’s still out like a light, so Sam decides that now is as good a time as any to call it a day, brushing his teeth and taking his sweatpants off before slipping into bed alongside his brother, kissing Dean’s cheek and sticking close as he falls asleep.

            Dean wakes up just long enough to kiss Sam goodnight, having Sam turn so that he can pillow his head on his shoulder and hold him tight.

___

            Sam returns to work just a couple days later.

            He stays with Dean long enough to make sure that he’s not going to deteriorate any further, and once Dean starts sniping at him for hovering he knows that’s his cue, leaving Dean with a stack of DVDs and a player he nabbed from the consignment store, along with a promise to not wreck Baby that Dean doesn’t quite believe.

            Walking into The Shell Box, Nell’s on him so fast with a hug it’s a wonder Sam doesn’t have the breath knocked out of him.

            “You finally decide to get up off that lazy behind of yours and help little old Nell?”

            Sam smiles and gently detaches himself, rubbing at his ribs.  “Well Dean’s starting to get cranky and we’re out of cash…”

            “Mm hm.  You tell him that he better behave himself, seeing as how you’ve been taking care of him.  Anything I can do to help out?”

            Sam shakes his head. “Unless you can speed along recovering from surgery, I’m afraid not.  He’ll be fine though – meanness will have him ready to go again in no time.”

            “Sorta like Ned, now that I think about it.  One time his foot got ran over Daddy’s tractor and he was so sore and irritable he was back out in the field in no time.”  Nell bustles off to the kitchen, Sam following behind.  “Speaking of, I’ve asked Ned to help out while Dean’s recuperatin’. Think you two can work together?”

            “I think we’ll be okay – so long as he doesn’t mind me not kissing him on our dinner break.”

            Nell turns and claps Sam on the shoulders.  “Sam my boy, ah don’t think you’ll have to worry about that in the least.”

___

            Dean gets back to work two weeks later, even if it was advised he should stay off his feet for at least a month.  Then again, Dean’s never been one to follow orders like that very easily, especially when it’s concerning his own body.

            “I’m better Sam, I swear – just let me do this, alright?”  Dean’s been grousing all day, trying hard to resist scratching at his stitches.  The wound no longer looks all that bad, and clearly Dean is feeling better if he’s managed to keep this sort of sustained grouchiness up for so long.

            Sam sighs, finishing finger combing his hair as he looks at Dean in the bathroom mirror.  “Fine – but let me have another look at you, alright?”

            Dean’s already taking his shirt off, flexing for Sam in the mirror.  “Look all you want to, Sammy, I’m not gonna complain.”  Dean winks at him, and Sam rolls his eyes in response.

            Sam gets on his knees between Dean’s spread legs, examining Dean’s stomach.  There’s new, pink flesh where the sutures are, and Sam knows they’re ready to come out.  Sam places his hands on Dean’s thighs, rubbing them as he says “want me to take ‘em out before work?  They look ready.”

            “God, yes.”  Dean gives Sam a kiss and then lays back while Sam goes and gets the first aid kit.

            Sam’s extremely wary, removing each one with the utmost care so that they don’t hurt Dean any more than necessary.  Dean doesn’t look down, instead focusing on the ceiling as he senses the thread unloop from his flesh, each stitch sliding out and leaving him feeling far less tight, if he needed a word to describe it.

            “Kind of hoping we don’t have to do this again.”  Sam says.  “At least for a while, anyway.”

            “We aren’t gonna give it up completely, remember?”  Dean winces as Sam finishes, taking a moment to breathe before he sits up.  “Thought we were gonna keep an eye on things around here.”

            “We are, just… let’s live for a while before we go off and start chasing ghosts again.”  Sam pulls Dean up carefully, gathering his arms around his body.  “Deal?”

            Dean gives Sam a smile before leaning into a long, long kiss.

            “Deal.”

___

            The bar’s slow that night, like molasses in the winter slow, as Nell puts it.  They’ve had ten patrons since opening six hours ago, and Sam’s wiped down the bar so many times he can almost see his reflection in it.  Dean’s spent most of that time outside the kitchen as well, either playing darts or trying to grab Sam’s ass.

            Nell’s sitting at the bar knitting, the clink of her needles competing with the jukebox.  “Mighty quiet, isn’t it?”  Currently there’s no one in the bar but them, the last person having left half an hour ago.  “Course ah figured it’d be slow tonight anyway, seeing as how the county fair’s this week. Always is.”  Nell holds her work up, inspecting it for any glaring flaws.

            Sam puts his rag down and pours himself a glass of water.  “Maybe they’ll come in after they get back.”

            Nell shakes her head, setting her needles and yarn down on the bar.  “Hardly ever do, and even then most of ‘em just want a beer or somethin’.  Tell you what – ain’t no sense in keepin’ you boys here, seein’ as how there ain’t no business.  I’m gonna close up early and let y’all enjoy the rest of your night, okay?”

            Dean turns from where he’s playing darts, already looking very on board with that plan.  “What’s that about closing early?”  Dean’s already making plans for how they can best utilize that time, and all of those plans involve he and Sam being naked.

            “You heard me, Dean.  Nothing to do if there ain’t no thirsty people.  You and Sam get on out of here, I’ll see y’all tomorrow..”  Nell’s already heading to the back to lock down the kitchen.

            “C’mon Sam, let’s go debauch each other.”  Dean’s behind the bar in a flash, pulling Sam away from where he’s leaning against it.

            “Patience, babe.  Not like we have to rush.”  Sam detaches himself from Dean’s death grip on his wrist, reaching behind himself to untie his apron.  “Apartment’s not going anywhere.”

            Dean turns and grabs Sam by the hips, pressing his body hard against Sam’s and rubbing himself against Sam all in one motion.  “And two weeks of handies ain’t cutting it anymore Sam. I need your big fucking dick inside me _now._ ”  To emphasize his point, Dean reaches down and grabs Sam through his jeans, fingers finding the thick ridge of Sam’s now half-hard cock and squeezing.

            Sam’s breath stops somewhere on the way out of his lungs, Dean’s hand on him short circuiting his brain and he’s pretty sure if someone looked closely enough, they’d see smoke coming out of his ears. “Yeah, let’s uh, let’s go.”

            Driving home mostly consists of Dean trying to grope Sam and stay on the road at the same time, a feat that Sam would rather not see performed. He’d like to actually make it to that part where he’s inside Dean, and not in the hospital because his brother had gotten too handsy.  Sam’s had enough of hospitals for the time being anyway.

            It starts once they’re parked outside their building, Dean grabbing Sam by the front of his shirt and smashing his lips against Sam’s, kissing him rough and wet and deep.  Sam groans, knocking his knee against the dashboard as he tries to pull Dean into his lap, cursing loudly when he realizes that’s not going to work.

            “Fuck it, inside Dean.”  Sam’s out of the car quick, boner making it hard to walk straight and Sam has to reach and adjust himself so he can get to the door.  Dean manages to unlock it with one hand, the other rubbing Sam’s crotch, Sam standing so close that he may as well be an extension of Dean’s own body.

            “Can’t fucking wait to get this wet for you, Sammy.  Wanna fucking taste you so bad.”  Dean hauls Sam in for another kiss once the door’s open, sinking his teeth into Sam’s bottom lip and sending a shiver through his body that ends somewhere near his toes.

            “No time like the present, Dean.”  Sam shoves Dean inside and slams the door shut behind them, backing Dean against it and using his height to guide their next kiss, fierce and filled more with tongue and teeth than warmth.  Then again, Dean’s right – two weeks of barely sated lust tends to spill out rapidly rather than slowly.  There’ll be plenty of time for slow and soft later.

            Dean growls into Sam’s mouth, pushing him back and pulling his own shirt off, his amulet landing heavy against his breastbone.  Dean barely registers it, because Sam comes back at him and lifts him, feet leaving the ground as Sam holds him against the door and attacks his neck and chest.

            “God Sam, keep fucking doing that.”  Sam’s biting and sucking on Dean’s collarbone, swiping his tongue over flesh that he pulls up between his teeth, each contact pure electricity.  Sam doesn’t stop until Dean’s chest is dappled in teeth marks, looking up at Dean and sucking the amulet between his lips, Dean watching in fascination as that pretty pink tongue slides over the golden horns.

            Sam hoists Dean up higher, letting the amulet go so that Dean’s chest is level with his face.  Sam traces a slow circle around Dean’s left nipple, spiraling in and sucking the bud between his teeth and teasing the peak until Dean’s moaning and writhing.

            “Fucking suck on my tits baby boy, feels so fucking _good_ ,” Dean rasps, pushing on the back of Sam’s head in order to get him even closer to his chest.

            Sam repeats the motion, eyelashes fluttering and making whisper soft sensations fly across Dean’s skin.  “Like that?”

            “ _Fuck_ …” Sam stops teasing and bites down on Dean’s nipple, making him yelp in response.  Dean locks his legs tighter around Sam’s back, the heels of his boots leaving red marks against Sam’s skin.  Sam manages to get them off the door and carries Dean down the hall with Dean still wrapped around him like a vine.

            Sam deposits Dean on the bed, stepping back to take off his own shirt and jeans, Dean’s brain catching up with the rest of him and stripping himself, Sam’s eyes full of barely contained desire so intense that Dean shudders when he sees Sam’s gaze trace all the way down his body.  Dean loves that look in Sam, like he’s going to consume and overwhelm Dean like a tidal wave – it’s the only time that Sam ever truly lets himself go, and Dean’s more than happy to receive it.

            “See something you like there, darlin’?”    Dean gives his cock a lazy stroke, not breaking eye contact even when he feels precome get his fingers all sticky.

            “Mm hm,” is all Sam says, reaching down to finish pulling Dean’s boots off before he crawls up the bed, Dean swallowing against how his heart just started racing so fast it feels like it may thump out of his chest.  “And like’s not quite enough appreciation, you know?”

            Sam bears down on Dean with a kiss, gathering his wrists above his head and using his weight to keep Dean in place.  “I agree, babe.  Trouble is, I like actions a lot better than words.”

            Sam grinds his hips slowly against Dean’s, kissing him in a slow, similar fashion, all one long, connected movement that sends Dean’s mind reeling – it’s never, ever bad with Sam but times like this, when Sam takes complete control and focuses completely on Dean - it’s unlike anything Dean’s ever experienced.

            Dean tightens his fingers around Sam’s wrists as best he can and holds on, Sam’s mouth leaving his lips and stopping at his chest.  Sam keeps sucking and biting at Dean’s nipples like he was before, keeping going until they’re puffy and oversensitive to the point of Dean can’t help but whine in his throat because of how _good_ it feels.

            “Sammy, please, need you soon baby.”  Dean’s voice is a wreck already, and they haven’t even gotten truly started yet.

            “Yeah?”  Sam seats himself on Dean’s stomach, body bent nearly double as he reaches behind himself with one hand and strokes Dean’s cock.  “Want me to fuck you soon, make you scream on my dick?”  Dean’s whole body tries to curl in on itself when Sam swipes the pad of his thumb over the slit of his cock, smearing the bead of precome that’s gathered there and making Dean squirm all the harder.

            “Sam, c’mon, don’t fuck with me right now.”  Dean gets this pleading look in his eyes, irises dark forest green and so wide that Sam can see his reflection in them.  “Been so fucking long baby boy, and you know it.”  Dean takes a sharp breath as Sam’s fingers slip lower, traveling over his balls and touching his hole.

            Sam feels the mood shift, the tension lessening and he drops the toppy pretense, climbing off of Dean and instead placing himself back between his legs.  “Sorry, Dean.”  Sam forces himself to not hang his head and keep eye contact.  “Just trying to do it how you like, is all.”

            “Nothin’ to be sorry for.  Just like you said though, we can take our time, alright?  You don’t have to try and impress me Sam, I know you’re incredible in the sack.  Been there a few times with you.”  Dean winks up at him, and the grin he gives Sam reassures him.  “And I love it any which way you give it to me.”  Dean manages to get his arms free of Sam’s grip and takes his face in his hands.  “C’mere.”

            This time when they kiss it isn’t violent or desperate; instead it’s a long, slow burn that has Sam groaning into Dean’s mouth with how quickly his body relaxes into it.  Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s body, sliding and scraping his fingernails over Sam’s ribs as he sucks on his bottom lip. Sam lets Dean pull him in, only for Dean to stop right as Sam’s really getting into it.

            “Gotta go uh, you know.”  Dean runs his fingers through Sam’s hair, thumbs stroking over his temples.

            Sam nods, knowing exactly what Dean means, and rolls off of him.  “I’ll be right here when you’re done, babe.”

            Dean gets up and goes in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.  Sam gets up and quietly pads to the living room, cock hard and swinging between his legs as he moves, absently stroking himself as he stands there, thinking – behind the couch is where he’d put it.

            One day before work last week he’d gone to the consignment shop where he’d gotten their furniture (they all know him by now, given the number of times he’d been in and out) and bought a record player and every Led Zeppelin album they had – which amounted to exactly three, but it was a start.  Sam sets the machine up on the kitchen counter, plugging it in above their toaster.  The speakers hiss and crackle as it comes to life, then settle to a dull buzz, Sam checking for the sound of running water as he unsleeves _Houses of The Holy_ , blowing the dust off of the vinyl and switching the playing speed to 33 1/3rd, settling the album onto the turntable and dropping the needle – the steady thrum of Jimmy Page’s guitar starts up right away, and Sam dials up the volume all the way. The music fills the kitchen, and satisfied they’ll be able to hear it in the bedroom, heads back, plopping himself down on the bed right as he hears the water shut off.

            Dean comes out humming along to the words, head turned towards the open door and trying to figure out where the music’s coming from.

            “Sam, is that…”

            “Yeah, it is.  And I’ll show you later.”  Sam gets up and pulls Dean towards him, hands sliding over his hips and settling on his ass.  “Right now we have other plans, remember?”

            Dean reaches down and gropes Sam’s still hard cock, giving it a twisting stroke and making Sam moan. “How could I forget?” He pushes Sam towards the bed, Sam going down when the backs of his legs connect with the back of the mattress, landing on his back as Dean sinks to his knees, sliding his hands up and over Sam’s thighs and hips.  Sam props himself up on his elbows, watching Dean like he’s the only thing that exists in the world.

            Dean kisses Sam’s belly, dropping light pecks along the not so defined as before contours of Sam’s abs, stopping to swirl his tongue in Sam’s navel and taking a great deal of satisfaction in the surprised squeak Sam makes.  He teases and touches, all along Sam’s hips and the tops of his legs and insides of his thighs, ignoring Sam’s by this point achingly hard dick, foreskin pulled back and leaking a stready stream of precome down the shaft.

            Sam groans with each touch, his control on the situation having evaporated completely.  “Thought you said we needed to quick fucking around?”

            Dean looks up from where he’s writing love letters with his lips into Sam’s thigh and grins.  “Yeah, but when’s the last time we got to appreciate each other like this?”

            “You’re doing all the work, Dean.”

            “And normally you do it – so now it’s my turn, alright?”  Dean resumes putting his mouth in places Sam didn’t even know could turn him on (and Dean’s had him mapped out for a long time now) and all he can do is enjoy it, putting his hands on Dean’s head and threading his fingers through the short spikes of rusty blonde hair. 

            Dean decides Sam’s had enough of what he’s not been giving him and takes Sam’s cock in hand, Sam making a moan that Dean would call grateful if his mouth wasn’t suddenly full of dick, taking his time about going down on Sam.  He stops halfway, jaw stretched as far as it’ll go, tears already gathering in the corners of his eyes.  He swipes his tongue over Sam’s frenulum, making Sam buck into his mouth.  Dean’s expecting it, just pulls off of Sam far enough to where he won’t choke and then resumes getting Sam’s dick wet, wasting no time in giving Sam the sloppiest head he can manage.

            Sam fucking _loves_ it, his breath catching in his throat with every motion of Dean’s tongue and lips on his cock, Dean completely focused on getting Sam ready for him.

            “Dean, baby, your fucking _mouth,_ ” Sam gasps out, his foreskin currently drawn up between Dean’s lips and Dean’s tongue just inside it, tracing his tongue around Sam’s slit.

            Dean smiles around Sam’s cock, tossing Sam a wink as he hums an assent, changing it up again and going all the way down on Sam until his throat’s burning with the girth and stretch of his brother’s dick.  He holds it for a full minute, eyes screwed shut and leaking tears, Sam letting out a wrecked sob above him.  Dean gives himself a mental pat on the back, pulling off of Sam with sticky trails of saliva and precome trailing from his lips.

            “Don’t think I can get it wetter than that, baby boy.”  Dean sits back on his haunches, wiping the tears from his eyes.  “But now I really, really want you to fuck me.”

            Sam pulls Dean up onto the bed, switching their positions and kissing the taste of himself from Dean’s mouth.  “Think I can handle that for you.”  Sam starts to get between Dean’s legs with the intent of eating him out but is stopped halfway there.

            “No need, Sammy – already taken care of.  All you gotta do is lube up that big pretty dick and slide right in.”  Dean caresses Sam’s jaw, Sam turning his head to kiss his palm and murmur “okay.”

            Sam grabs the lube from under the pillow, drizzling it over his dick and not stopping Dean when he reaches up to help, making sure Sam’s good and coated, wiping what’s on his hand on his hole.  Dean hooks his hands around the backs of his knees and pulls back on them, holding his body open for Sam.

            “Beautiful,” Sam whispers, stroking his cock as he appreciates the view, Dean’s hole already stretched open for him.  They hold eye contact as Sam pushes in, Dean crying out as Sam keeps going until he’s completely flush with Dean’s ass.

            Sam leans down and gives Dean a long kiss, at the end asking “okay?”

            “Never better, baby.”  Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s waist and back, fingers gripping Sam’s biceps.  “Never, ever not ready for you, Sammy.”

            It’s slow, intense love that they make, kissing the whole time and remaining stuck fast, in sync so well that at this point it’s involuntary reflex.  Sam would call it getting lost in each other, was this some crappy romance novel – but it’s so, so much more than that, this is taking what they almost lost and making it their own, no demons or ghosts or other supernatural beings baring down upon them.  It’s just them, just Sam and Dean, fucking slow and sweet in _their_ apartment, on _their_ bed, on their own terms.

            Sam’s very, very okay with that.

            Dean comes first, Sam’s hand on his cock making his back arch as his climax spills out all over his chest and stomach, Sam not far behind when he feels the tug of Dean’s body around him.  There’s this long, uninterrupted moment of pure nirvana, biting each other’s names into their mouths and then echoing loudly as they fall back to earth, Sam coming down on Dean with a whump that knocks most of the air out of Dean’s lungs.

            “You’re sticky,” Sam provides after a while, grinning dopily into Dean’s shoulder.

            “Hey, that’s not my fault.”  Dean’s being crushed sure but he’s not yet willing to grouse at Sam and tell him to get off.  “You can’t blame me for what happens when your dick’s inside me.”

            Sam chuffs a laugh, then sits up enough to look into Dean’s eyes, both of their faces flushed red with happiness and exertion.  “What can I say, it’s an awesome place to be.”

            Dean purses his lips for a kiss, and Sam gives willingly.  “So are you saying you want to stay for a while?”

            Sam grins, and for Dean it’s like staring into the sun, framed by the fixed orbit of Sam’s arresting dimples.

            “Something like that.”


End file.
